


Father Figure

by Tony



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, F/M, Het, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character(s), Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Teen Angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur plays Lolita for his neighbor Eames, who is twice his age.</p><p>As of June 2015, this fic is officially discontinued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is me attempting plot. 
> 
> Mostly pining and UST. Lots of UST. ALL the UST!! A couple of wank scenes and Arthur waxing poetic over his boner for the beefy British hunk that lives next door. No sex in this chapter, sorry! Also brief F/M
> 
> Rated M mostly for mature themes that some of you might find uncomfortable to read about. 
> 
> Not sure WHEN we're going to get to the sex to be honest with you, so if you don't like plot, you might want to pass this one up. I'm going to be focusing on character development and plot here in this chapter, and probably next chapter as well. If at some point I throw in another pairing or a kink (ex: Daddy kink is going to come into play later on), I'll give a warning here in the notes.
> 
> Also, don't expect me to update frequently, you'll only be disappointed. :')

A young boy sits in a man’s lap--a man 15 years his senior. The young boy has beautiful dimples and shaggy brown hair that almost reaches his collar before it begins to curl. He’s thin, with long fingers and a smile that could make angels sing. 

The man is sweating. His hands lay tentatively on the boy’s thighs. He is 30 years old, and he knows how dangerous this is. 

“You’re going to get me into a lot of trouble, Arthur.”

Lips stretch into a wry smile as fingers find the edges of a band t-shirt, latching on and pulling the thing over a brunette head. Only his hemp necklace remains above the waist. He’s beautiful, so very beautiful, with muscle just starting to show, shoulders still slightly rounded. He is not quite a man yet, no longer a child. But he’s a child compared to the man whose lap he sits in now, and that makes it all the more thrilling. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the boy whispers, finally leaning forward to press their mouths together.

He is 15, and he knows what he wants. What he wants is Eames. And like most stubborn youth, he won’t take no for an answer.

+++++

Arthur and Ariadne had been neighbors since they were small children, the two of them playing in the backyard making mud pies while their parents smoked cigarettes and drank wine in the house. They were in diapers together, they shared their toys and their secrets, they shared their first kiss together, they went through puberty together, and had most of their classes together when they got to high school. They knew almost everything about each other. Arthur knew that Ariadne blew the blind kid two houses down from them when she was 13, and Ariadne knew that Arthur was gay. Arthur knew that Ariadne had been stealing her mother’s cigarettes for months now, and Ariadne knew that Arthur bought sports magazines just to jerk off to pictures of the beefy men with glistening, oiled skin.

What Ariadne did not know about Arthur, was that he had been madly in love with her uncle since they were about 10 years old. 

Ariadne’s uncle was an Englishman who stayed with them most of the time, living in the guest room as a mooch and showing off his sleights of hand to the children, grinning with those plush pink lips of his whenever he was able to garner a laugh or a gasp from his simple card and coin tricks. Eames was his name, and he was the brother of Ariadne’s father from another mother. He was devilishly handsome, always had Arthur in stitches, and he was bisexual, a fact that Arthur hung onto quite closely over the years as Eames brought home both men and women, much to Ariadne’s parents’ disapproval. He’d paw at them in front of the children until he was swatted with a newspaper by Ariadne’s father and shooed out of the house.

Arthur had never seen a bisexual man, and seeing Eames kiss other men so passionately before turning around a week later and doing the same with a woman made the boy’s heart ache with both envy and wonder. Eames was 25, young and brash and indecisive with life. He wasn’t a role model, rather a bit of a rebel with a heart of gold. Arthur was smitten, infatuated, obsessed. He idolized Eames. Ariadne wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, chalking it down to Arthur being weird and fatherless and wanting someone to look up to. She was partly right.

+++++

At the age of 10, Arthur was sleeping over with Ariadne, when in the middle of the night he awoke with the seat of his pants and the sheet under him soaked in urine. He’d had an accident while asleep and, scared out of his mind that Ariadne would find out and make fun of him, he’d snatched up all the sheets and ran to the bathroom downstairs in a hurry to try and wash the soiled sheets (and himself). He’d forgotten to lock the door, just closed it and dashed to the wash tub to begin running water, shoving the sheets under the spray and praying it didn’t stain an ugly yellow, informing everyone who ever used them afterwards of what he’d done.

He hadn’t wet the sheets in years. Why now??

“Is everything alright?” a sleepy voice asked from the doorway, and Arthur just barely concealed a screech as he all but fell into the tub along with the sheets. 

“No! I mean—Yes, I just…” the boy began to babble, face aflame with embarrassment. It was Eames, in his boxer shorts with hair rumpled and eyes squinted from the glaring light. Arthur was mortified, looking away as Eames’ gaze tilted downwards to see the mess Arthur had made of his sleeping pants, soaked through down to the knees. “I, um. I can take care of it. Please just don’t—don’t tell anyone?”

A smile filled not with pity so much as kindness graced Eames’ lips. “Stay here Arthur, I’ll be right back,” he ordered softly and then left, the room so much dimmer without the man’s presence brightening it.

Arthur fought tears back, and failed eventually as they spilled passed his eyes, matting his eyelashes, his shoulders rounding in submission and shame. He’d embarrassed himself in front of Eames, the man he respected and looked up to, idolized. He scrubbed furiously at the wet sheets with soap and water, his hands burning from the heat, and a moment later the door pushed open again. 

Eames approached with a pair of shorts, old and faded and cut off from a pair of sweat pants. “Not the prettiest pair of trousers, but they’re too small for me. A bit big on you still, no doubt, but they’ll have to do, Darling. Here, put them on and give me yours. And turn that off,” he nodded at the running water, and Arthur obeyed immediately. 

While Arthur had removed his soiled clothing, wiped himself off with a wet washcloth, and put on the new shorts, Eames bundled up the wet sheets and left the room. Eames hadn’t mentioned the tears in Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur was feeling about a million times better about the whole thing because of it. In the distant quiet of the house, Arthur could hear the faint sound of a washing machine starting up, and he blushed hotly. Eames, the handsome uncle of his best friend, was going out of his way to help Arthur. It made his heart beat a little faster just thinking about it. 

Wandering off towards the back of the house where the washing room was, Arthur saw Eames clearing out the clothes in the dryer to prepare for the sheets when they were done washing. He smiled at Arthur when the boy approached. Arthur had to hold the shorts up with one hand to keep them from falling straight down to his ankles, and Eames grinned at that. “Brilliant. These’ll be done in about an hour and a half, if you’d like to sleep on the couch or something until then.”

Arthur smiled back, body pressed to the doorjamb and fingers playing at the light switch, picking at it but not flipping it. “I’ll uh… I can do that, yeah. Thank you.”

Nodding, Eames went back to folding the clothes. The sound of the water filling up the machine stopped, only to be replaced with the mechanical whirr of gears switching around, the clunky machine beginning its first cleaning cycle. “Not a problem. I’ll wake you up when they’re done.”

“You’re not going back to sleep?” Arthur asked, a little surprised. Eames looked harried and ready to fall asleep standing up.

Shrugging with absolute nonchalance, Eames gave him a crooked smile, displaying his equally crooked British teeth that fascinated Arthur. “Well I’m up now, aren’t I? Don’t worry about it, I’m usually up half the night anyway, Pet.”

Nodding shyly, Arthur watched Eames fold the last of the clothes before finally deciding to slink off to the living room and make himself comfortable on the couch. He buried his face in a pillow and tried not to think about how embarrassing wetting the bed at 10 years old was, how embarrassing it was to get caught trying to clean up after himself, how embarrassing it was for such a cool guy like Eames to see him with pajama pants soaked in piss. 

He eventually fell back into a light sleep.

A hand on his shoulder woke him up some time later, faint blue light just beginning to stream in through the windows. The distant sound of birds tweeting outside the windows filtered in through his waning dreams. He groaned and looked up, finding Eames standing over him with freshly dried blankets and a friendly smile. “Here we are Arthur, nice and warm. If you hurry up, no one’ll even notice you were gone,” he said quietly, winking. 

Scrambling to sit up, Arthur took the sheets with a brand new blush tinting his cheeks. “Thanks! Um, for the sheets. And the clothes. And the shorts… And for uh… For not laughing at me,” he mumbled, face so downcast it was almost buried in the nice warm blankets he held. 

Snorting, Eames clapped him on the shoulder. “Laughing at you? Darling, you want to know when the last time was that I wet my knickers? Last week. I was so knackered I barely made it to bed. Woke up in a river, I swear,” he drawled, an almost fond look on his face as if the memory were a positive one. 

Arthur stared, mouth open, and Eames laughed.

“Don’t worry about it. Run along now, before Ariadne comes in, wondering where you’ve gone.”

Arthur nodded and scampered off, holding the sheets with one arm and his waistband with the other, quietly creeping back up the stairs and into the guest room bed. He didn’t sleep for a while after that, the warmth of the sheets and the fresh memory of Eames’ kind face making him wonder if one day _he_ ’d ever be that cool.

+++

Arthur’s favorite time of the year was the summer, if only because Eames was there, just next door, 95% of the time. He’d bask on the back porch in swimming trunks, reading a book with his aviator sunglasses in place, looking like some sort of British model out of a magazine. Gaudy tattoos decorated Eames’ body, covering his barrel chest and twisting over his impossibly large arms. Arthur had found himself needing to run home quite a few times to be alone in his room, jerking off furiously with the image of a half-naked and sweat-soaked Eames mowing the lawn or pulling weeds. 

The biggest reason Arthur refused to let Ariadne know about his obsession with Eames was that the man was a whopping 15 years older than him. At first he’d thought that his feelings for Eames were more akin to wanting a father figure in his life since Arthur’s own father was chronically absent due to work, he and his mother left alone in a big house with a pool and a fenced in backyard, enjoying the constant flow of money from their father who’d rather work 100 hours a week than be at home with his family. 

This idea of him just idolizing Eames as one would a father dissipated when Arthur was 12 and came home early from school to find Eames with his face between his mother’s thighs on the couch. All three of them had shocked each other, a shriek emitting from his mother’s mouth and his own caught tight in his throat, and Eames had immediately sprang from his position kneeling on the floor to dart at Arthur, grabbing him gently by the shoulder and giving him the most apologetic, pleading look Arthur had ever seen on the man’s face. 

“Arthur,” he’d said, and Arthur stared at that mouth, at those lips that were wet with something other than saliva, “Darling, please don’t be angry with me.”

Arthur had stared at Eames’ lips as he spoke, had known words were coming from that mouth, but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his hears, all he could feel was the blush rushing to his own belly, a sick arousal at what he’d just seen making his brain grind to a halt. The knowledge and the smell that permeated the space between them, solidifying the act as something that really did happen, it was all so much and all Arthur could do was stare dumbly.

Eames didn’t want Arthur to rat him out. A quick look at his mother and Arthur could see that she didn’t want to be told on either, her face pleading and ashamed, tears at the corners of her eyes from embarrassment.

He wouldn’t tell. Ever. And he said so, the words a mumble from his lips as he pulled out of Eames’ grip and ran up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.

No, what he felt for Eames wasn’t familial at all. He’d wanted Eames for himself, and seeing the man with his mother had made Arthur so fiercely jealous, he’d instead began to hate his mother with a ferocious vehemence reserved only for the competition of a potential lover’s feelings. In this case, Eames’ feelings. Arthur knew his mother didn’t know that her son had any sort of feelings for Eames, but she’d also never shown any interest in the man other than mild flirtation. The tryst had been unprecedented to say the least. 

Arthur never walked in on his mother and Eames again, and had confidently suspected that they’d completely broken off whatever they’d had going on for fear of being found out. _All the better_ , Arthur thought selfishly, the new secret inside him swelling like a black shard of ice every time he saw his mother. She had a husband. She’d had the love and affection of Arthur’s father, something he hadn’t had since he was too young to remember, and now she was trying to take the love and affection of the only other man Arthur wanted in his life as well. 

The end of whatever it is his mother and Eames had going on (clearly a fling restricted to the heat of a moment) meant less competition for Arthur. The endless girlfriends and boyfriends the man brought home were a joke as it was. They never stayed more than two weeks, and Arthur never bothered learning their names. Eames had jokingly mentioned one night in passing that he hadn’t either. They were nothing serious to Eames, only friends with benefits that quickly lost Eames’ interest once they’d filled the void. 

Arthur liked to relish in the idea that he was different. He had no serious aspirations, and at only 13 he wasn’t going to kid himself—he could be nothing more than the friendly neighbor boy to Eames. He’d barely hit puberty and although he’d begun to think about sex almost constantly, he knew better than to think someone likes Eames would make time for a child like himself.

 He was happy with his position though. He was happy with the smiles Eames gave him, the pats on the shoulder, and even the dreaded noogies that left his head smarting and his ego bruised for all of two minutes. After all, he was getting more than any of those week-long flings ever received. 

After the day Arthur discovered Eames and his mother together, things were a little awkward, but Arthur held up his end of the bargain. He’d wanted to be a little mad at Eames, after all he _was_ only 13 and probably scarred for life after seeing something like that. But he couldn’t _stay_ mad. Not at Eames. Not with those sheepish crooked smiles and the charming way Eames still thought that pulling a coin from Ariadne’s ear was an impressive trick. 

Eames had been rather pleased to see that Arthur was still good-natured towards him after the incident with his mom, and even thanked him again one evening over a trip to the local ice cream stand. 

This was something Arthur loved, the subtle change in Eames. He didn’t know if it was because of his reliability in keeping secrets or something else entirely, but Arthur found that Eames had begun to act more friendly towards him, even going so far as taking the boy out for lunch, or trips to the mall on occasion. Arthur ate this behavior up with fervor, loving the attention Eames lavished on him. 

Ariadne hadn’t even cared. She had a new boyfriend and was spending most of the time with him anyway. And when school started back up, Arthur’s last year of middle school, he made sure to always get his homework done as soon as possible so that he could go to Ariadne’s and have a chance at seeing Eames. Most of the colder months had Eames working odd jobs though, mostly in the evenings, much to Arthur’s dismay. Although there were some nights where he’d be up late, playing games by himself or reading, where he’d look out the window and see Eames coming home from a late shift at work. 

Arthur loved those nights, where the last thing he’d see before bed was Eames, even if only at a glance. 

He really was pathetic.

+++++

The summer before Arthur’s freshman year, he was 13 and basking lazily in the sunshine of his backyard by the pool when Ariadne came over with her current boyfriend, Eames trailing along behind as they poured through the gate separating Arthur’s backyard from Ariadne’s. He’d been startled out of his doze, sitting up quickly and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. 

            “Arthur! You don’t care that I brought Gavin over, do you?” the young girl asked, and Gavin, the tall freckled red head behind her smiled shyly. “Mom and Dad said he could come over as long as Eames was chaperone. And as long as you said yes.”

A look past them both had Eames staring right at Arthur, and as soon as their eyes connected, Eames gave a friendly smile and looked away. 

            Arthur swallowed. Eames was in a threadbare tank top and swimming trunks with flip flops. He looked almost bored. Definitely annoyed at having to be brought along to watch a couple of kids. “Yeah, no, that’s—Why not? I don’t mind,” Arthur offered, laughing a little abruptly.

Ariadne beamed, strolling over to sit near the edge of the pool with Arthur. Gavin followed. Eames went to the nearby lawn chair and reclined back, glancing over at the magazine sitting on the table beside him and picking it up to flip through it with mild interest. Arthur’s heart ached. 

“You kids behave now, no snogging in the pool, a’right?” Eames smirked, eyes not even lifting from the pages of the sun-bleached fashion magazine. 

Pursing her lips, Ariadne looked at Gavin and rolled her eyes. “Come on Gav, let’s see if we can get you doing something other than doggy paddling.”

Arthur watched as Ariadne laughed and jumped into the pool, Gavin jumping in after and quipping about how he knows how to swim better than she thinks, and Arthur just sort of stared as the two splashed around and made the most of the warm day. He wasn’t feeling quite as playful, instead opting to run inside for a drink. He grabbed a Capri Sun for himself and a bottle of beer for Eames before heading back out and making a beeline for the lawn chair beside Eames’. 

“Thirsty?” he asked casually, holding the bottle of Sam Adams out for the older man to take. 

A knowing grin quirked Eames’ lips to the side and he reached for it, sitting up a little further in his chair to drink. “Buttering me up, Darling? I must tell you, I have no money. Gesture’s appreciated though, even if it _is_ watered down American piss,” Eames teased, bringing the bottle to his mouth and taking a long pull. He sighed then, looking out at the pool where Ariadne and Gavin were playing Marco Polo. When the silence became a little too much, Eames broke it with, “So, high school now, eh? You’re growing up quick. Where’s the time go these days? Are you excited?”

Small talk. It was better than nothing. Arthur enjoyed the sound of Eames’ voice too much to care what the subject matter was, he just wanted to listen to that deep British accent all day long. “Yeah, I guess so,” Arthur replied noncommittally. “Just four more years and then college, right? More school. Sounds _soooo_ fun,” he drawled, sipping at his juice with a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Eames snorted and Arthur sighed, continuing. “I suppose I’m excited. I don’t mind school, it just gets tedious after a while.”

“ _Tedious!”_ Eames echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Big word for a boy like you.”

Arthur scowled and flipped Eames off, sending the man into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, you are _such_ the delinquent, Arthur. I might have to tell your mum about this behavior. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll let me spank you myself. Haven’t you ever heard that you should respect your elders?” Eames asked, turned in his seat now to face the young boy.

It took all of his might not to conjure and keep the image of Eames spanking him out of his mind’s eye, and instead he barreled on. “You’re 27, that’s not an elder! Although you are looking a little old. Is that grey hair I see?”

Mouth gaping in a mockery of shock, Eames crowed with a hand on his chest dramatically, “You wound me! I know someone who’s getting coal in their stocking for Christmas. Their name starts with ‘Ar’ and ends in ‘thur’. Little git.”

Arthur snorted. “Christmas isn’t for half a year, you can’t threaten me with that. I’m 13 now anyway, that might have affected me when I was like 8, but not now. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Hmph,” was the reply Arthur got, Eames bringing the bottle to his mouth again. He licked his lips and turned his gaze back towards the pool. “13. Almost a man. Forgive me, I’ll have to watch my tongue from now on.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence after that, and before Arthur could say anything in return, Ariadne called from the pool, “Arthur! Come get in, the water is nice and chilly! Feels great!”

Looking hesitantly from Eames to the pool, Arthur visibly recoiled. “Nah, I’m good where I am. I might get in later.”

“Arthurrrrr!” she whined, giving her best pout.

“No, let me finish my Capri Sun!” the boy bellowed back, and then squawked as Eames stood beside him and bent, picking Arthur up bridal style. “What the hell! What are you—Oh no, no, Eames don’t! DON’T!”

The grin on Eames’ face was pure evil as he carried Arthur to the edge of the pool and threw the boy in, packet of juice and flip flops and all. 

“Eames!” Arthur screeched when he righted himself. Swiping water out of his eyes, his face was flushed beet red as he yelled an indignant, “Asshole!”

Laughter was all he got in return, and then Eames was taking off his tank top and shoes, jumping into the water as well. 

They all played like that for a few hours, Eames dunking Arthur, and Arthur and Gavin taking turns dunking Ariadne. Eames taught Arthur a proper breaststroke, and Ariadne and Gavin eventually took off back towards the house when the sun became too much. Eames was a dark red at this point, looking towards the gate and visibly trying to decide whether to leave or not. Arthur frowned. 

“Stay for dinner? Mom’s making roast beef,” Arthur offered, lounging with his arms on the side of the pool, body still in the water. His hair fell in wet locks over his face, water dripping from his nose and chin. He wondered if he looked as handsome as Eames did when dripping wet, and then smirked to himself when he realized what a dumb thought that was. _Of course I don’t_. 

Eames smiled and climbed out of the pool. “Roast Beef? Mmm. You know my own mum always told me never to turn down a free meal,” he said, reaching for the towel he’d brought and pressing it to his face. The man looked back at Arthur, an expectant look on the boy’s face. He nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let me go take a shower and put some clothes on, then I’ll be over in a bit. Want me to invite Ariadne?”

_ NO! _ was what Arthur almost shouted, his lips parting and brows twitching. “If you want,” he said instead, his voice quieter. Was he being pathetic? He probably was. Crap.

A thoughtful look passed Eames’ face. “Just you and me and your mum then?”

Arthur felt his ears start burning. He nodded, a shy smile curling his lips. 

Eames smirked. “Alright, alright. Why don’t you get out of the pool then and go get tidied up. Help your mum set the table and all that. I’ll be over in a tick.”

Grinning, Arthur nodded. Maybe he wasn’t so pathetic after all.

\------

As fate would have it, Arthur’s mom was called out before dinner was done. Almost as soon as Eames walked in the door, she received a call from her friend saying that she needed a ride the hospital. Her daughter had apparently cut her finger almost clean off, and her husband had taken the car to work for the day. 

In a rush, Arthur’s mom had grabbed her purse and ordered Arthur to turn the heat down on the roast, make sure the quiche didn’t burn, and just stay there until she got back. 

So Arthur and Eames were left there alone and in the kitchen, the silence stretching between them awkwardly once more. Arthur turned to the stove and scrutinized the food. “Did she say to turn the heat off or to turn it down?” he asked, mostly to himself. 

Laughing lightly, Eames rolled the sleeves of his button down up to his elbows and went to stand beside Arthur at the stove. “Looks like it’s you and me tonight then, Pet,” the man declared, surveying the contents of the stove before bending to peek in at the oven. With a satisfied nod, Eames gave Arthur an exasperated look. “Good thing you just _begged_ me to come over, or you would have starved tonight. I should get a medal for this. Do they give medals for babysitting? Hey!” Eames laughed when Arthur punched in him the arm. “Kidding! Christ I’m not your punching bag Arthur, you little shit.”

And so they ate together that night. Eames hated eating at the table, and Arthur’s mother had called to say she’d be out a few more hours, so they ate on the couch, curled up and watching an R rated movie Arthur’s mother would never have let him seen. Full of roast and quiche, Arthur felt comfortable and warm, Eames’ presence at his side making him wonder if life could get any better. 

When the gratuitous sex scene came on, followed by the inevitable murder of the couple rutting against each other like animals, Eames snorted. “She’s definitely a screamer now, isn’t she?” he asked as the woman’s head flew across the screen, the echo of her wail cut off and overlapped by her lover’s. Eames looked over at Arthur and wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, sliding a hand over Arthur’s eyes. His voice was stern as he spoke, “I shouldn’t be letting you see this! You could go blind.”

Arthur squawked and pushed Eames’ hand out of the way. “I’ve seen tits before! I’ve seen sex before!” he defended vehemently, his face flushed.

Settling his arm on the back of the couch behind Arthur, Eames gave a wry smile. “Pardon me for forgetting.”

And there it was, the reminder of that life-changing night where Arthur had come home early from school… He frowned, pulling his legs up onto the couch, knees to his chest, socked toes digging into the soft suede of the couch. It was silent between them again, as the movie went on. Arthur didn’t even know what was going on anymore—some serial killer was being confronted in a burning building, there was gunfire, who even cared? 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming to dinner.”

Eames shrugged. “Would’a been lonely over here if I hadn’t. Luck you, eh?” he quipped with a sidelong look.

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. He was 13, his voice was still cracking, he hadn’t seen his father in months, and if he was to be honest with himself, he was very, very lonely. Girls didn’t interest him, and all the boys at school would probably smash his face in if he made any sort of advance at them, and the only person he could really talk to now had a boyfriend and couldn’t spare Arthur any of her time. The heartache he felt when Eames was near was that of young love at its finest: deep in his soul, an ache that he felt in his bones, smarting every time Eames said his name, rolled that “r” off of his tongue in a purr that licked up Arthur’s spine and stole his breath his away. 

Even sitting this close to the man, Arthur’s mouth burned with the need to say something, to ask if Eames felt the same way, to confess, to drop some sort of hint. It was an arduous task to just sit there instead of pulling that hand so near his shoulder down to where it had been, over his mouth, those big fingers on his lips, the smell of the food they’d eaten and the natural oils from Eames’ skin mingling to make a scent that Arthur wanted to smell so close to him again…

Arthur hated himself. He was sitting on a couch waxing poetic about sniffing his crush’s fingers, like some disgusting pervert. His hand went up to his face and he scrubbed at his cheek, his eyes, clenching his jaw, doing his best to change his line of thought. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic_ ….

“Tired?” Eames asked, breaking Arthur from his reverie. He looked almost sympathetic. 

“No, not at all!” Arthur half-lied, because damn he was tired, but there was no way he’d admit it. If he admitted it, Eames might go home, and this was just so perfect that-

“Arthur, you still up?” a woman’s voice called from the front door.

His mother was home. The bottom dropped out of Arthur’s stomach.

_ Just a few more hours… Why couldn’t she have stayed out just a few more hours? _

Eames got up off the couch and stretched, greeting Mrs. Wright at the door with a kiss to the cheek. They spoke for a few minutes, Eames asking how the daughter was, if they’d gotten her finger sewed back on properly, if Mrs. Wright had eaten, and she’d in turn asked if the meal had turned out okay, had Arthur behaved properly, thanks for watching her kid while she was out.

Arthur didn’t listen. He just stared hard at the TV, the credits rolling, his mouth a hard line. 

It was time for Eames to leave. The man was saying his goodbye, waving at Arthur, a kind smile on his face. “Thanks for the lovely evening Pet, don’t stay up too late!” he’d chided with one of his treacherous winks, and Arthur blushed hard in return, watching as the man he suffered for left, the sound of the screen door clacking shut and then off he went, running up the stairs to his room. 

He could hear his mother calling for him. 

“I’m going to bed, I’m tired!” he called back, stripping quickly out of his clothes. He rant to his window, pushing the curtain aside, licking his lips as he watched Eames stroll towards the porch of Ariadne’s house, and then at the bottom of the steps, Eames stopped, and looked up to Arthur’s bedroom window. Their eyes met for a moment, and Arthur felt hot all over, his bare skin prickling under that gaze he couldn’t even see properly from this distance, and fuck if his dick wasn’t already hard in his pants. 

Eames gave a lazy salute, and Arthur could feel the smirk from there as he watched Eames enter the house, and then Arthur was going to his bed, his hands shaking terribly, slipping under the covers and panting as if he’d been running. He lay on his belly, his ass in the air, and thought back to the movie, to the woman and the man fucking hastily like rabbits, imagining himself in the woman’s position, Eames under him and running his hands all over Arthur’s body as the boy rode him into next week. Oh how Arthur wanted to feel Eames inside of him, fucking him, touching him! 

One hand wrapped around his cock, the other pinching his tit and caressing his neck, moving up to his mouth to slip his fingers in, lick and suck them obscenely, and Arthur could see that grey gaze in his mind, could feel that piercing stare, and he was cumming then, a whimpered cry buried in his pillow as he came all over his sheets. 

He had to do something about this. He was going crazy.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames is called away for an emergency and Arthur finds himself in need of a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for underage boys fooling around, and also a bit of homophobia (remember that these are teenagers after all, and kids can be cruel, judgemental, and very hypocritical)

Arthur was 14 now, had established himself as quite the academic, and recently discovered that he loved to draw architecture. He was having fun in school, enjoying his classes and his teachers, and generally thought life couldn’t get any better.

It should have been expected then, when things took a turn for the worse.

Arthur came home one afternoon to look over into Ariadne’s yard and see the family car being loaded down with luggage. He’d wandered over to find Ariadne’s father, Mr. Thomas, bent over the trunk of the car, stuffing a duffel bag in amongst two suitcases.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Arthur inquired, sipping from his plastic bottle of Kool-Aid. He wondered if they were going somewhere for the weekend, his gaze sweeping over to the front of the house where he assumed the rest of the Thomas household (and Eames) was. Ariadne hadn’t mentioned that they were going anywhere…

Mr. Thomas was a handsome man with chestnut hair and blue eyes, a smooth face and a tight smile. He was a nice man, stern with his daughter, loving to his wife, ever the picture of perfect fatherly behavior. Ariadne had suspected that he was cheating on her mother, and Arthur couldn’t imagine the man doing so.

Turning with a quick smile to Arthur, Mr. Thomas sighed and nodded towards the house. “My brother is leaving for London. I’m out here packing his stuff up because he’s too busy screwing around to do it himself.”

Arthur was silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “London?” he asked, the word tasting like copper in his mouth. He looked down at the luggage. That’s too much to take with you on just a weekend trip. He felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach as he looked towards the house. “Why’s he leaving?”

Scratching his head and frowning, Mr. Thomas clarified, “His mother is sick. I guess she caught a bug that was going around and it hit her pretty hard. She’s in the hospital and they uh,” he paused to grimace here, and Arthur swallowed thickly. “They don’t think she’ll make it. Something wrong with her immune system they say.”

Eames had a different mother than Mr. Thomas even though they were brothers. There was always a sort of strange tension when the subject was brought up, and Arthur had never deigned to broach the subject. He knew that Eames was close to his mother though, and his sympathies were with the man already. He stared longingly at the front door that hid Eames, a stupid barrier between them that now felt like an ocean.

Soon there _would_ be an ocean between them.

There was an awkward silence between them for a moment before Mr. Thomas smiled. “Well go on then, say goodbye. Probably won’t be seeing him for a while.”

Arthur’s cheeks burned as he ducked his head and scampered off towards the house.

The mood in the house was dull compared to the panic that was welling inside of Arthur. Ariadne watched idly from the island in the kitchen as Eames and Mrs. Thomas argued over what else Eames needed to pack: No, they aren’t going to allow you to take our pipe, yes, take the rest of the cookies from last night, did you remember your toothbrush, you should take your coat because the weather report is saying rain for the next two weeks straight in London.

Eames looked aggravated and sleep-deprived, but still just as handsome as ever. His eyes were a little red and Arthur wasn’t sure if it was from crying or the pipe he was still trying to smuggle into his carry-on bag. When he turned to see Arthur, he frowned and gave up the fight. He left his bag on the counter and walked over to the teenage boy, hugging him close against his bulky side. “Arthur, Arthur, it looks like you’ll have to be the one to keep an eye on Ari for a while,” he drawled, arm around Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ll be gone for a bit, so you’re the man of the house, a’right?”

Arthur scowled, enjoying the warmth of being crushed to Eames’ side, but annoyed that Eames’ last words to him were about Ariadne. Right now he couldn’t give less of a shit. Right now he wanted to know how long Eames would be gone, whether or not he could sneak inside one of Eames’ carry-on bags, whether he could sleep in Eames’ room while the man was gone, wear his clothes and sulk while pretending Eames was only out to the store and would be right back.

            When Arthur didn’t reply, Eames sighed and steered them towards the back of the house, towards his room. “Now see here Love, I won’t be gone forever. I’m just across the pond,” Eames offered, knowing it was a pathetic consolation. He sat Arthur down on his bed and just hugged the boy, nose buried in soft brown hair. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m leaving in an hour and you’re going to give me the silent treatment?”

            “But I don’t want you to go,” Arthur whispered petulantly, not caring how open he was being, how obvious about his feelings. Eames could be gone anywhere from a week to a decade, and Arthur wasn’t going to let the man go without at least speaking his mind first.

            Eames kissed the top of Arthur’s head and sighed. “Darling, you know you can call me whenever you want. You can write me, email me, whatever you want. Here, give me your mobile.”

Arthur pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over weakly. It seemed that nothing could cheer him up.

With a few button clicks, Eames handed it back over. “See? That’s the number you can reach me at. Just remember the time difference and you’ll be alright.”

Staring at the screen, Arthur wanted to cry. The number was labeled “Eames ;)” as if that stupid little winkey face would make him feel better, as if it would make him forget how much he already missed Eames. He let out a squeak that wasn’t quite a whimper and threw his arms around Eames’ neck, clenching his eyes shut and willing himself never to let go.

Eames was stock still for a moment before relaxing tentatively, looping his arms around Arthur’s sides and hugging the small boy back. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I would if I could, Arthur. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but you’re not the only person I care about. I have family I need to take care of.”

Arthur looked up at him with a trembling chin. “You care about me?”

Eames’ answer was a resounding laugh that echoed off the walls. He laughed and laughed until there was a tear in the corner of one eye, and he wiped it away, shaking his head. “Christ Arthur, you are aiming to get me into trouble aren’t you? Or at least make me late for my flight. Don’t be daft Darling, of course I care about you.”

Gathering Arthur up in his arms, Eames held him close and pet his chocolate brown hair, purring words to soothe him. “I know it’s going to be hard without your Uncle Eames around, but you’ll manage. You need to take care of your mum, she doesn’t have anybody either, you know? Just make sure to be here when I get back, a’right? Don’t make me hunt you down.”

There were a million things that Arthur wanted to say, and he wondered absently which ones he could get away with. His head rested on Eames’ chest and he looked up solemnly, searching those grey-green eyes and wondering if a kiss would get him into trouble. Isn’t this where they kiss in the movies? The husband leaves for war and the wife gets her one last romantic goodbye kiss—that’s how it works, right? One of Eames’ hands was at his waist, big and paw-like. The other was at Arthur’s knees. This was the closest he’d ever been to the man.

Their eyes met and Eames gave an uncertain smile, the tension obvious in the air. Arthur didn’t want to wait any longer. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Eames’, their lips touching and their eyes open. It wasn’t magical, there were no fireworks, and Eames didn’t lean forward in silent ask for more. Eames just balked, not moving, until Arthur finally pulled away, his face blood red and burning, almost dizzy with embarrassment. That was the weakest first kiss _ever_.

“Arthur, I think there’s been a bit of a misunder-“

“No!” Arthur spat, jumping from Eames’ lap. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all! He was almost in tears with embarrassment and regret. “I’m sorry, I thought that would be different- I thought it would go better, oh God, please don’t be mad, please don’t tell me there’s a misunderstanding, because there’s not, and I shouldn’t have kissed you, I regret it, I really do, but there’s not a misunderstanding!”

Eames just stared as Arthur talked himself breathless.

Arthur looked away, running trembling fingers through his hair. There was no salvaging this situation. He was 14, and he’d just made a fool of himself in front of the man he was in love with. Life couldn’t get any worse. “Fuck, can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

The uncomfortable look on Eames’ face made Arthur want to vomit. Eames reached for Arthur’s hand and held it, trying to put on his best charming smile and failing miserably. “Arthur, Darling… I am so incredibly flattered,” he began, and then Arthur couldn’t help the dry sob that escaped him. Eames stood and pulled Arthur closer, his hands on the boy’s shoulders as he looked Arthur straight in the eye. “I’m almost old enough to be your father, Arthur. Don’t you understand why that’s wrong?”

Shaking his head and valiantly fighting the tears welling up in his eyes, Arthur quipped that no, he did not know what was wrong with that. “That’s bullshit and you know it! Some of the women you bring home are way older than you! And- and some of the men you bring home are barely eighteen!”

Eames huffed. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me leave with you mad at me. I won’t have it Darling, I won’t have you mad at me.”

Throwing his arms around Eames’ neck, Arthur exasperatedly replied, “Then don’t tell me you don’t like me that way! Don’t lie to me!”

“And what gave you the wild idea that I liked you like that, Arthur?” Eames asked, his hands going to Arthur’s forearms and gripping them, but not removing them for where they rested against his shoulders.

Eames’ fingers easily touched, engulfing the thickness of Arthur’s arms. Arthur filed that information away for later, when the situation wasn’t so delicate.

Arthur’s tears spilled over as he pushed on. “Everything! Everything you do makes me think that! The way you look at me, the way you talk to me, the way you—fuck Eames, TELL me I’m not seeing things, tell me I’m not crazy!”

A sad smile settled on Eames’ plush pink lips. “I’m sorry, Arthur. This is a bad time. My mother is very sick right now, I don’t know if you knew that or not, but here in about half an hour I need to be on a plane to go take care of her. You’re a big boy, Arthur. I think you can live without me for a few weeks.”

The absolute selfishness with which Arthur had taken over the situation dawned on the teenager, and he immediately backed off. He stared at his feet for a moment, and mumbled a pathetic, “I’m sorry.”

Eames put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “We can discuss this when I get back if you want. If you need me, please call me.”

Arthur nodded and left. He didn’t say anything to anyone, just pushed out of the door and went to his own house. He stripped off his clothes and went to his backyard to swim, take his mind off of things. The car next door started up and between his lips he could hear final goodbyes, promises to call and keep in touch. Arthur steadfastly ignored the sound of the car driving away and kept to his laps, swimming until his arms and legs burned, until the stars were out and his mother called him in for dinner.

He had to forget about Eames. Eames had left him. Arthur was on his own again.

\+      +      +      +

The first thing Arthur thought when the Irish transfer student walked in was that he was incredibly fucking gay. Arthur had thought of himself as being fairly gay, but this new kid, Robert Fischer, he was practically walking around with a neon sign declaring that he wanted to suck dick. Nails painted a glittering emerald green, black boots with a three-inch heel, and a long white scarf dangling from his shoulder, Robert Fischer was the poster child for homosexual youth—or at least the homosexual youth you’d hear told about in some cliché horror story.

Arthur was relieved. Maybe now the few people that picked on him would deflect their attention to Fischer. He told as much to Ariadne at lunch that afternoon, and she frowned, turning in her hard plastic chair to stare at Robert, who was walking towards the lunch line, chin in the air, confident strides accented by the clack of his boot heel against the tile floor.

She snorted. “Looks like he just walked off a runway. He does know this is a public school, doesn’t he? Not the catwalk in Milan?”

They joked about Robert’s brazen choice of clothing for a little longer and then turned their conversation to school-- homework, the repairs that were going on in the gym, Mrs. Thomas’ new baby.

Arthur had forgotten about Robert’s existence by the time school let out.

Over the next week, it began to be very hard to forget about Robert Fischer. Not only was he smart and funny and fashionable, he was also extremely intelligent and witty. Of course there were a few assholes who would guffaw over the fact that Robert was a homo, but the number of kids who bothered to do so were incredibly small. It was as if Robert had some sort of aura that deflected negative attitude. Everyone seemed to love him.

Like everyone else, Arthur had found himself gravitating towards the boy, who, through word of mouth, Arthur found out was 15 and the son of a very rich and powerful mogul. He’d wandered to the group surrounding Robert one afternoon, staying at the edge to eavesdrop and stare with the rest of them. From such a close vantage point, Arthur could see Robert’s gorgeous blue eyes, the same icey color as his nails, and those high cheek bones and pretty pink lips... Robert looked like a girl. If it wasn’t for the lower register and the size of his hands and feet, the presence of an adam’s apple and obvious bulge in the crotch of his too-tight jeans, Arthur would wonder if Robert really was a boy.

By Friday, Ariadne had become friends with Robert. She was crowing proudly about it as she sat down at the lunch table with Arthur, a smile on her face and a flush to her cheeks. “He says he’s bi! Isn’t that cool?”

Arthur pursed his lips. “He’s just saying that to get attention,” he grumbled, trying not to think of Eames and the way he’d frequently brought home both men and women, having no preference for one over the other. It had been two weeks and Eames’ absence had already worn a hole in his chest.

Ariadne dipped a fry in her pool of mustard and hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she offered offhandedly. “You should meet him. He’s really cool, Arty. His accent is sooo hot!”

Sipping idly at his can of iced coffee, Arthur honestly thought about it. After Eames had left, Arthur had buried himself in studying and side projects. His art teacher had strongly encouraged his interest in architecture, giving him extra assignments just to help him flesh out the talent. He’d swamped himself with work, his art and other studies, and if he found himself with free time he’d go outside and swim until his limbs ached. He’d done his best to keep himself occupied, keep his mind off of that terrible day when Eames had left and Arthur had made a complete fool of himself.

But maybe making a new friend would work out better than extra homework and wearing himself out. Maybe making friends with Robert Fischer would be for the best? Arthur had nothing against the guy after all. He shrugged and stabbed his plastic fork into the pile of wilting salad. “I’ll think about it.”

\+      +      +

“Is that Manhattan?”

Arthur turned. Robert Fischer stood behind him, uncomfortably close (when the fuck had he gotten so close?), those big, ice blue eyes glued to the picture hanging on the wall.

There was an art show, and the art teacher, Mrs. Logan, had framed Arthur’s piece and made it the center of the web of artwork lining the wall.

Arthur blushed. It was indeed Manhattan, a view from a couple miles off the coast. “Um, yeah. You ever been?”

Robert smiled sidelong at him, a secretive thing that made Fischer look even prettier. “A few times. My dad goes for business trips sometimes and takes me along.”

Nodding, Arthur fidgeted and crossed his arms, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the silence.

“It’s good. I like it. The way you used crosshatching to shade looks really classic yet fresh,” Robert continued almost at a drawl. Then, wasting no time, he stepped in front of Arthur with that same sly smile. “I’m Robert. And you’re Arthur, right?”

Arthur nodded again. He suddenly felt silly in his dress shirt and slacks, like he was trying to look more mature for his age and it was coming off as pretentious. Or maybe it wasn’t considering Robert was here, talking to him. “Yeah. Hi,” he replied dumbly. He wasn’t quite sure what to say.

 Robert stared at him for a moment. “You don’t get asked out often, do you?”

Ducking his head, Arthur laughed shyly. _Asked out? Is that what this is?_ “No. I don’t.”

Smile broadening into a grin, Robert put his hands on his hips. His fingernails were maroon today. “Cute. You want to go out sometime?”

Arthur couldn’t find a reason to say no, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to, not with Robert right here, looking like some well-to-do model out of a French movie. So he nodded. No words, just a crimson-faced jerk of his head.

With a laugh that sounded two shades from exasperated, Robert leaned in to put his hand on Arthur’s waist lightly. “Great. We’ll do something this weekend, ya?”

And then he was turning to leave, that long white scarf trailing behind him in a way that would be garish on anyone other than him.

Arthur stood there, wondering if he’d just been asked out by Robert Fischer, the rich Irish transfer student. When had his life become an after-school special?

He stared blankly at his framed piece of art on the wall, his face still flushed, until two boys nearby snickered, muttering “fag” as they passed by. Arthur rolled his eyes. Leave it to a couple of assholes to ruin the moment. He left to find Ariadne and tell her about his encounter.

\+      +      +      +

It turned out that dating Robert Fischer hadn’t been such a bad idea. The older boy liked to talk a lot, but he had a fast car and big house, free access to the movie theater whenever he wanted, and the Fischer pantry was constantly stocked with all sorts of food.

Robert wasn’t a bad kisser either.

The only problem was that Arthur wasn’t able to let himself forget Eames. He and Robert would be on the bed, tongues in each other’s mouths, hands roaming over exposed skin, and Arthur’s thoughts would be a million miles away, anywhere but with the boy whose tongue was jammed down his throat.

Arthur would be on his back, Robert’s head between his legs, and he’d be getting an incredible blowjob, but the only thing Arthur would be able to think about was whether Eames was getting laid back in London, if Eames was fucking around just as often as he had been back here in the States, if Eames was asleep right then, or in bed jerking off.

The first time Arthur got on his knees for Robert, he closed his eyes and imagined it was Eames above him, Eames’ uncut cock in his mouth, and every time Fischer would moan or say Arthur’s name, Arthur would hesitate and furrow his brows, concentrating on just hurrying up and getting it over with. He didn’t want to blow Robert. He wanted to blow Eames. Every blowjob he gave to Robert made him more and more bitter.

Arthur couldn’t continue this charade. It was unfair to Robert.

“I don’t think this is working out,” Arthur said quietly, sitting at the end of the bed. He was fully clothed,but Robert, laying behind him, was only in a pair of skimpy briefs. Arthur turned, embarrassed, to make sure the other boy had heard him.

Robert looked at him. He propped his head up on his hand and gave a small smile. “What do you mean?”

Turning more toward Robert, Arthur motioned vaguely between them with his hand. “Us. Dating. I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

“Is this because you’re bad at blowie’s? Honey, you know it’s fine. I told you it’s fine if you don’t like giving them,” Robert cooed, scooting closer to hold Arthur’s hand.

Arthur’s cheeks heated and he scowled. “No, that’s not it!” he hissed impatiently, but let Robert lace their fingers together anyway. He huffed. “I like you, I really do. These past couple of months have been really fucking great, but I… I don’t know. This whole, romantic relationship thing just isn’t for me, I don’t think.”

Staring at their interlaced hands, Robert didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, completely to Arthur’s absolute mortification, he asked, “Does this have anything to do with Eames?”

Pulling his hand back as if it had caught fire, Arthur stiffened and balked at Robert. “How the fuck do you know about Eames?”

Sitting up, Robert arched his eyebrows and smiled that god damned secretive smile that made Arthur’s skin warm. “The other night when I stayed at your house. I woke you up in the middle of the night with a blowjob, remember? While I was going down on you, you called me Eames. I let it slide because I know you’re not cheating on me. You’re not the type. But I’d kind of assumed it was why you seemed uninterested in sex with me.”

Arthur’s heart raced in his chest. He licked his suddenly too-dry lips and laughed nervously. “You didn’t say anything to Ari about it, did you?” That was the last thing he needed. As far as he knew, Ariadne didn’t know anything about his obsessive crush with her uncle. He wanted to keep it that way.

Robert grinned. “Should I have?”

“NO!” Arthur spat hastily, his ears burning. “I mean- I mean, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Robert lay back on the bed, arms behind his head with a roguish grin that suited him ridiculously well. “Calm down, of course I didn’t. I’m not that much of a bitch.”

Sighing with palpable relief, Arthur crawled over to Robert and laid down beside him, tucking himself against the slightly taller boy’s side. He kissed the side of Robert’s mouth. “Thanks. It’s sort of a private thing, you know? I’m sorry.”

Robert wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and kissed the younger boy on the mouth. “No harm done. You’re lucky you’re so hot or I’d have to be mad at you,” purred Fischer playfully.

Arthur laughed and kissed Robert properly, moving his body on top of the other’s pale form and slotting their mouths together for a thorough kiss. For all that Arthur didn’t feel any romantic feelings for Robert, he could definitely admit they had chemistry. Kissing Robert was always Arthur’s favorite. The boy was talented with his tongue, more talented than Arthur, and more confident. Arthur’s own tongue was hasty and impatient in Robert’s mouth, while Robert liked to take his time, massage slowly and expertly. Arthur almost didn’t want to know how Robert got so good at kissing. He could only imagine.

They finally separated and Arthur smiled thankfully one last time, grabbing his jacket from the nearby chair. “Thanks again. I’ll text you?”

Reaching for his pants, Robert gave Arthur a warning look. “I expect you to tell me all about this Eames guy some time. Don’t think you’re getting out of this!”

Arthur laughed. “Alright. I’ll get back to you on that.”

\+      +      +      +

Winter break was in a week and Arthur had once again buried himself in school work. It had been too cold to swim in the pool for weeks, so when Arthur was out of homework, he went downstairs and ran on the treadmill for hours and hours. He was still great friends with Robert, and he’d been getting more of Ariadne’s time lately now that she and Gavin weren’t together anymore. But still, nothing quite compared to having Eames around.

Arthur stepped out of Robert’s car, pulling the collar of his jacket higher to shield against the cold wind. It was just beginning to snow finally, and Arthur welcomed the white fluffy flakes. It only snowed about three times a year if they were lucky, and all that pure white never failed to make Arthur grin.

“Call me about this weekend!” Robert called as Arthur made his way to the mailbox.

Arthur waved his acknowledgement, flipping open the metal box. “Alright, alright! Later!”

Bills, bills, wrong address, a postcard from his father (oh, look, he’s in Idaho, woohoo.), spam, people wanting donations... and…

Arthur’s heart caught in his throat. A letter from the UK. _Charles Eames_ read the name. He slammed the mailbox shut and bolted inside, threw the rest of the mail at the couch (missed it by a mile) and ran upstairs to his bedroom, tearing his clothes from his body in a giddy fervor.

Face flushed from the cold, ears flushed from excitement, Arthur stripped to his boxers and dove under his quilt. He curled his legs under his stomach and poked his head out from under his blanket and stared at the letter in his hand, wondering if this was a joke. The fact that it was an actual letter, not a text or an email or a phone call, was so absolutely charming to Arthur, he was reminded all over again why he loved Eames.

He finally opened it.

> _Arthur,_
> 
> _Are you still mad at me? I hope not. Life is too short to stay mad at someone forever. I realise kids your age usually don’t send mail to each other anymore, but I can’t text and I know how much you hate talking to peeple over the phone. I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and I’ll probebly be back to visit in about a month. I can’t stay, mum’s too sick to be left alone, but it’s beter than nothing, right?_
> 
> _Stay warm in the cold wether, Darling. See you soon!_
> 
> _-E_

Arthur could have cried out of sheer happiness. Eames always was shit at spelling. It warmed his heart to the core to see Eames’ handwriting and misspelled words, the endearment he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again, or even see on paper.

He held the letter to his face and breathed in deeply, imagining he could smell Eames on the paper. He couldn’t of course, but if he just wished it hard enough….

The envelope held only one other thing: A silly Polaroid picture of Eames with a cigarette in his mouth, giving the peace sign. Arthur laughed and laughed until he cried, finally slipping the letter, the envelope, and the Polaroid under his pillow in hopes that their presence would influence his dreams.

A month. He just had to wait a month.

So much for forgetting about Eames.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bad habit of shooting off excuses as to why I don't meet deadlines.
> 
> I've had an extremely bad month. I got very sick last weekend and could barely think, let alone write for days. My classes were becoming too much of a handful, my anxiety reached the point of being crippling because of things going on at home and at school, and then my son got sick, my entire family got sick, and on top of that I thought it would be a good idea to finally purchase Assassins Creed 3. 
> 
> So, TLDR, I'd wanted to get this fic out much sooner but I just fucked around way too long and it took forever to write.
> 
> Good news though, I dropped my comp 2 class so I have more time to myself and a huge whopping amount LESS stress in my life! Which means more writing! :) 
> 
> Anyway. I read over this chapter a couple of times and caught all the mistakes that I saw. If there are any continuity mistakes, please say something. 
> 
> I don't know when I'll be updating next, God knows if I make any promises I'll just end up breaking them-- thanks for sticking around! And if you've got something you want to suggest, don't be shy :)


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas break, and Eames is due back home. Arthur stresses and then Eames is there to relieve some of that stress. Sort of, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still reading this? Bless your endless patience.
> 
> Chapter warnings for drug use. Story warning for underage and angst.

Robert pulled up to the curb of Arthur’s house and shifted into park. He sighed and looked over at Arthur, at the bag in his hand, and quirked his lips into an almost mocking smile. Arthur was in his own little world already, the stars in his eyes almost literal as the young boy’s knee bounced in place. “You’re sexy when you’re in love, did you know that?”

Arthur laughed and blushed, turning to look out his window. The snow was falling thickly but not quite sticking, the grass and roofs white but the streets a wet, slushy, dark mess. “He should be here today. In a couple of hours probably. I gotta get ready and wrap this present and stuff before he gets here. I hope he likes it… I don’t know what the hell adults like, I mean I assume he’ll like it, but he’s been gone awhile and maybe he doesn’t even like that stuff anymore? He might think it’s too girly to get a present from another boy. Fuck, what if he thinks it’s girly? What if he thinks I’m just a silly faggot and tells me to-“

“Arthur, Christ,” Robert interrupted, laying a hand on top of Arthur’s and leaning over to press a soft kiss to the brunette’s mouth. “You _are_ a silly faggot Arthur. But he’s not going to hate you for it. So just calm down. He’ll love the present because it’s from _you_.”

Opening his mouth to object, Arthur clamped it right back shut when Robert gave him a warning look. He ducked his head sheepishly and leaned in to kiss Robert’s cheek.

Movement caught Arthur’s eye and he flicked his eyes to the right to see what it was.

Eames was standing on the porch of the Thomas household, a jacket and snow boots on, puffing away at a cigarette as he leaned against the post. He was looking right at Robert’s car, at Arthur half in Robert’s lap, kissing Robert’s cheek, flushed and excited.

Arthur gasped threw himself against the car door, grabbing for the handle and almost ripping it off completely in his haste. “ByeI’llCallYou!” he squealed, bolting towards Ariadne’s house.

+

Robert watched with casual interest as Arthur ran around the front of the car and up the driveway of the neighbor’s house, laughing gaily as he pounded up the snow-laden stairs to throw his arms around an older man with a cigarette dangling from his lips. It was almost heart-warming to see. Such a Hallmark Moment. Somewhere under the mild jealousy Robert felt, there was a sense of happiness for Arthur, seeing the younger boy so damnably in love. He watched as the two chatted for a moment, watched until the older man tossed his cigarette into the snow and showed Arthur inside.

Even with Arthur telling him straight out that there was someone else he was in love with, Robert had still nurtured a faint hope that there was a chance for him to win Arthur’s affection. Something told him that he should no longer be holding his breath.

Putting the car into drive, Robert sighed heavily and took off. Maybe Ariadne would be more welcome to his advances. At least she could appreciate Robert’s monthly need for a mud bath at the spa.

+

Heavy shopping bag clutched tightly in his hand, Arthur followed Eames into the foyer, unable to wipe the world-class grin off his face. His fingers gripped the front of Eames’ sweater tightly, their bodies only inches apart. Eames wasn’t quite as excited as Arthur, but he was being a good sport about it. Arthur was just happy to see the man.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back until later! How was your flight? How long are you staying? Do you have plans for dinner tonight? Mom taught me how to make baked garlic chicken and I know you’d love it if you’d just-“

“Alright, alright,” Eames laughed, gently dislodging Arthur’s hand from his jumper to take off his jacket and toe off his shoes. “I don’t know what I’m doing for dinner tonight, but I’m glad to see you too. I just got in half an hour ago. How about you let me settle in first? I’m here for two weeks Darling, there’s no rush.”

Arthur’s heart sank. Eames had just arrived, he didn’t want to think about the man leaving! Not yet! He huffed indignantly and clutched the shopping bag closer to his side. Then he realized he still **_had_** the bag and gasped, trying to hide it behind his back. “Oh! I need to- I mean I just came from shopping, I should- You’ll be here when I get back, right? In a minute? I’ll only be gone a minute!”

And then Arthur practically pounced on Eames, giving him another hug and bumping his head into the man’s chin in what could only be described as a _nuzzle_. Before Eames could react, Arthur shot out the door and ran to his own house, narrowly avoiding busting his head open on the car in the driveway when he slipped on a patch of ice.

Arthur’s mom was in her room, painting her toenails while watching some soap opera on television. He didn’t even greet her as he raced passed to his own room.

Pulling the heavy silver case from its shopping bag, Arthur slid it under the covers and out of sight. He didn’t want his mother coming in and snooping, maybe badgering him about why he’d buy such a thing. Not that it was something private, but it was for Eames, and anything to do with Eames wasn’t up for discussion. God forbid somebody realize how terribly lovesick Arthur was for the older man and give him a stern talking-to about how misguided he was in his affections. Or even if someone confronted Eames about it, asked him if he knew about the kid next door that pined over him, suggested that maybe Eames stay away for an even longer period of time so as to discontinue his toxic influence on the youth.

Arthur shuddered at the thought. He really **_was_** playing with fire.

He tugged off his tattered band t-shirt and put on a warm sweater that Robert had said made him look very mature (and totally hot). Then he looked in the mirror and changed his mind, going for a newer band t-shirt covered in seagulls with a picture of the seashore on it.

“Fuck,” he cursed, unsatisfied. Why was dressing for a crush so hard? Finally he settled on pulling the sweater over the t-shirt and left it at that.

“Got a date tonight?”

Almost swallowing his tongue, Arthur spun around to see his mother in the doorway, toes freshly painted red, her hair messily pinned up with banana clips. For a brief moment Arthur could almost admire his mother again, how naturally pretty she was with her curves and her slender neck, her long hair and even longer legs. At one point, Eames had wanted that. If only Arthur could be more like his mother, maybe Eames would act more interested…

“No,” Arthur huffed, turning away. He was still bitter, jealous, still didn’t want to even look at his mother. “Just trying on an outfit for Christmas dinner.”

“Christmas dinner is a week away, Arthur.”

Feeling a flush crawl up his neck, Arthur bit his tongue to keep from exploding on his mother, keep from saying words he’d regret later. 14 years old he may be, but he could still appreciate the fact that she was his only reliable family member, and it was she who gave him so much freedom and kept him from wanting for anything.

He turned and tried to keep a kind smile on his face. “Why does it matter? I’m just going over to Ariadne’s. We’re not going out tonight, it’s just cold and I wanted to be warm.”

Raising her eyebrows, Mrs. Wright pushed off the door and padded over to her son, arms outstretched. Arthur stiffened as she took him in her arms and brushed his soft brown hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not trying to start a fight. I just haven’t seen you all day and wanted to say hello. Is that so bad? I’m your mother and I love you, you know that right?”

Arthur felt himself deflate a little. For so long he’d been harboring a bitter jealousy towards her, and just hearing her admission wasn’t going to completely wipe the sleight clean, but it made him briefly regret keeping her at such a distance. He hooked his arms around her thin waist and sighed. “Yes, I know. I love you too…”

Still petting Arthur’s hair, Vivienne spoke quietly. “You getting all dressed up for Eames? I heard he’s back today.”

Arthur blanched. He kept his head buried in his mother’s chest, not daring to pull away and let her see his face. “Is he? I hadn’t heard.”

Sighing, Mrs. Wright gently pushed her son away, holding him at arm’s length. She pursed her lips and cupped his chin to keep him from looking away. “Honey, I know you like him. I suppose it’s because your father is away all the time, I mean Eames is great with kids and he’s always been so nice to you. I don’t blame you for attaching yourself to him. But this little fling you have isn’t going to last forever, I know that, and I had my fair share of flings at your age as well, so--”

Breath suddenly came to Arthur, and in a rushed huff he was pulling away, his face flooding with color so fast he was dizzy. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about! What are you even saying— _flings_? What does that even **mean**!? There is no _fling_ , there is nothing like that, I just like Eames, he’s cool, but I don’t like him like that! I- I look up to him! He’s a… He’s a f-father figure! You know, I kind of look at him as a father, you see?”

The words spilled out in a rush, Arthur hurrying to explain away his infatuation with Eames, because he didn’t need his mother bullshitting him like this, he didn’t need her giving him this talk, not right now, not when Eames was right next door, not when Arthur hadn’t seen the man in months, and not when there was a chance that his mother would bar him from seeing Eames if she deemed it necessary.

Vivienne’s eyebrows were at her hairline as she stared at her son. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her pink lips set in a deep frown at being spurned so hastily. When it was obvious Arthur was done with his outburst, she stood a little straighter and crossed her arms, shoulders squaring. “You know I don’t have a problem with you being gay.”

Arthur burned with embarrassment and finally turned back to his bureau, ripping open a drawer to look for different pants, mostly as a distraction. Exasperatedly, he continued to spin his excuses. “That’s not even **_it_** mom, that’s not even- I’m just saying, Eames is like… He’s like the father I never had- you know? Dad is never home, never calls, we haven’t- we haven’t even seen him in forever, he’s in fucking Wisconsin or something, I don’t even know! And Eames, he’s been… He’s always been nice to me. He’s acted like a father should. No, he’s not the best role model, I admit. But he’s good to me, you know? He respects me. And I like that.”

The boy’s face continued to burn as he dug through the folded jeans, picking up one pair before tossing it away to look at another. He really didn’t want to look at his mother. He hated lying, was terrible at it, and he was afraid if he looked her in the eye, he’d crumble.

He didn’t have to worry about it much longer. Vivienne padded over and sighed, running a dainty hand through his hair and ruffling it fondly before kissing him on the back of the head. “Alright, Arty. I’m not going to push the subject. Have fun, and try to remember that I love you, okay? And try to remember that I live in this house too.”

Arthur’s shoulders sagged and he nodded slowly. “Love you too,” he croaked, and then she left him alone feeling ashamed and embarrassed and sorry for himself. Altogether, feelings that were not new to him.

+

Long after a pleasant dinner with Eames and the Thomas family, Arthur found himself lying in bed, texting Robert about nothing in particular. He yawned and hit send, stuffing the phone under his pillow and preparing to finally let himself drift off.

A small _plink!_ was heard, and his eyes opened, head lifting off the pillow. Another one a moment later, and Arthur realized the sound came from his window. He looked over and again, another sound, louder this time- _Plink!_ _Plink!_

Going to his window, Arthur pressed his forehead to the glass and covered his mouth to keep from laughing. It was Eames, standing in the crisp white grass, waving up at him with a lopsided grin.

Arthur unlocked his window, pushed it up, and poked his head out. “What the hell are you doing, it’s like 2 in the morning!”

“Sod off, like you give a damn what time it is!” Eames replied, whispering loudly. His breath was tangible in the frigid air, gloved hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Put some clothes on and come down. Everyone else is asleep and I’m lonely.”

Blushing furiously, Arthur whispered back that he’d be down in a minute and shut his window, trying to find something warm to put on. His mind raced with ideas _. He wants to be alone with me! Oh no, are we going to have The Talk? He looked too happy to want to have The Talk. Is he drunk? He was drinking at dinner, he could be. Shit, where did my scarf go? Maybe he wants to confess that he likes me too. Maybe he’ll kiss me. Oh fuck, what if he_ does _kiss me?_

Out the back door and into the cold night, Arthur licked his lips and prepared himself for either the best or the worst as he pushed at the gate and let himself out. Eames was waiting around the side of the house, still smiling brightly.

 Arthur tried not to think about how that smile made him feel. He failed miserably.

“Come on, Pet. Around here,” Eames said quietly, motioning for Arthur to follow.

It was snowing lightly as they trod through the Thomas’ yard, over the frozen mud puddles and into the shadow of the shed. They stopped under a fir and out of sight. Arthur leaned heavily against the red wood of the wall, watching Eames, whose eyes sparkled with mischief in the dim light. Arthur smiled shyly. “What now?”

Eames took his gloves off and shoved them inside his coat, reaching into his pockets with a smirk. “Now, we smoke. Hate doing it alone and Wally won’t do it with me.”

Eyebrows knitted, Arthur watched as Eames retrieved a glass pipe from his pocket and poked at the dark green contents of the bowl. He tried to imagine “Wally”, Ariadne’s father, smoking pot. It was bizarre to say the least. He didn’t seem the type at all. Neither was Katherine, Ariadne’s mother. They were both sort of posh, very anal retentive. Arthur watched as Eames put the pipe to his lips and lit up. “So you wake me up in the middle of the night to do this? Who says I want to?”

Eames took a long breath in, the red glow of the pot burning bright like a beacon in the night. It was almost pretty to watch. Then he pulled the pipe away and, looking at Arthur, he smiled and blew the smoke from his nostrils.

 “I’m sorry, I should feel bad for disturbing your beauty sleep, shouldn’t I?” Eames drawled, smoke curling from his lips. Arthur was vaguely reminded of a dragon. “You saying you don’t want to smoke with me? You’re just going to leave me alone down here, all by my lonesome? What if I get kidnapped? How would that make you feel? Guilty, I  imagine.”

Narrowing his eyes with a sly smile, Arthur huffed. “Fuck you. No one’s going to kidnap you out here.”

“Hmph. Let’s not jinx it Darling, that would be a tragedy,” Eames purred, offering the pipe.

Arthur shook his head, lowering his face into the upturned collar of his jacket. “No, thanks.”

Eames stared a moment. “You sure? I won’t tell..”

Blushing a little, Arthur shook his head again. “I don’t uh… I mean, I never…”

Realization dawned on Eames’ face and he sighed with pity. “So you’ve never tried it? You’re missing out, Arty. You’re young and you’ve got plenty of brain cells. And you know all that bullshit about getting addicted is a lark, right?”

“That’s not- that’s not even it. I just mean, I’ve never had the uh, the chance. I don’t know how…”

The grin in response reached Eames’ eyes. “You want to learn?”

Arthur stared at the pipe and then up at Eames. “I don’t know… It’s kind of cold, I don’t want to take my gloves off.”

Eames’ chuckle resounded deep in his chest. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But if you want to try it, see if you like it, I could shotgun you.”

“Shotgun?” Arthur echoed, questioning.

“Mm. I take a hit and I blow it into your mouth. You breath it into your lungs and then let it out. Doesn’t burn like a fag, just feels like thick air. Not painful, I promise,” the older man purred, eyes twinkling. “Just open your mouth. Alright?”

And how could Arthur even think to say no to that? He wasn’t against trying it in the first place, he was just cold and tired and- and Goddammit he’d probably commit murder if Eames asked.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, okay. Sounds easy.”

Eames nodded and lit up once again, taking a deep hit. Then he leaned over and Arthur swallowed thickly before opening his mouth. Arthur felt awkward, his nose and cheeks bright red as Eames’ eyes zeroed in on his open mouth, those plush red lips so very close to parted pink ones as thick smoke was blown into Arthur’s mouth.

Swallowing the smoke down, Arthur kept it inside for a few seconds and then leaned his head back, blowing it out into the crisp December air and admiring the way it curled and twisted before dispersing into nothingness. He looked at Eames, who was taking another hit for himself. “How was that?”

Grinning slyly, smoke poured from Eames’ mouth and nose as he spoke. “I don’t know, how was it? You tell me.”

Arthur thought about it seriously for a moment. He didn’t know how long it was supposed to be until he started feeling anything, and he was too embarrassed to ask, so he just shrugged. “I dunno, I liked it. I’ll uh… I’ll take another hit if you’ll give it to me.”

And again, Eames took a hit and leaned in close, their mouths almost touching, and blew smoke into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur licked his lips and exhaled through his nose, crossing his eyes and grinning as he watched the smoke pour from his own nostrils, ridiculously entertained at how cool it looked.

Eames had relaxed back against the trunk of the nearby tree, poking at the bowl again.

They were silent for a while after that. Arthur could feel his head starting to get fuzzy and he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face, his head leaned back to look up at the starry sky and the big bright moon that loomed over them.

“You know, they say the crazies come out during a full moon. Maybe I _would_ have been kidnapped tonight if you weren’t here.”

Arthur looked at Eames, who stared back with an oddly serious expression. And then he suddenly burst into laughter, doubled over with it, hands on his knees and tears in his eyes. He laughed and laughed and then he felt a pat on his shoulder, and Eames was grinning down at him, jerking a thumb in the direction of the Thomas household.

“Come on, let’s get you in where it’s warm. I’ve had about enough of dealing with sick people, I don’t need one more on my hands.”

If Arthur wasn’t feeling so very suddenly happy, he would probably feel bad at such a comment. But he was grinning too hard to care about much of anything right now.

They snuck into the house, Eames leading Arthur to his room quietly, and Arthur felt his heart beating right out of his chest as they stepped into the sudden warmth.

Eames closed the door behind them. “You want to play some Halo?” he asked, taking his coat off and tossing it on a nearby chair.

Arthur looked around. It had been awhile since he’d been in here, in Eames’ sanctuary. It smelled musty, there were clothes everywhere, a suitcase was open with things scattered all around it. There was a lava lamp and a stack of worn cook books, a box of packing peanuts that had been ripped open, a drawer half closed and stuffed haphazardly with underwear and socks. It was a sight to see, that was for sure. Arthur felt like an intruder, somewhere in the back of his mind anyway. Right now, it just felt homey and so very _right_.

“Sure, whatever,” Arthur shrugged, pulling his scarf free and unzipping his thick winter jacket.

Eames grabbed a second controller and put the disc in the drive, turning on the TV. He grabbed an open bag of chips and crawled up on the bed, finally settling on his stomach. He smiled at Arthur lazily, cheeks flushed from the change in temperature and hell, he was just as handsome as ever. His body wasn’t as toned with muscle as it had been, not as bulky as before he left. He looked younger somehow.

Arthur was so in love.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and just stared at Eames. “You are so fucking handsome, did you know that?”

Ducking his head, Eames laughed and scrubbed his face with one hand. “So I’ve been told. Did you want to play this? If not, we can-“

The controller dropped out of Eames’ hand as Arthur leaned down and kissed him.

Blood pounded in Arthur’s ears as he sealed his mouth to Eames’, his palms sweaty and his breath hitching. When Eames didn’t push him away, Arthur took that as permission to deepen the kiss, to lay his hand on Eames’ shoulder and slip his tongue inside the man’s mouth. There was a hand on his chest then, pushing him back before he could really even get comfortable, and he was still grinning, albeit sheepishly when he pulled away.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, and no, he was not sorry, not at all, and it was obvious.

Eames sat up. He licked his lips and smiled humorlessly. “Do we need to have a talk, Arthur? I thought we were two friends hanging out. If that’s not what this is, maybe you should tell me.”

“ _Can_ it be more than friends?” Arthur inquired, emboldened by the drug in his system. “ _Can_ it be more than just two friends hanging out? Because I’d like it to be. I really would.”

Arthur reached out and looped his arms around Eames’ neck, draped himself over the man with a purr.

Large hands laid themselves on Arthur’s hips, and Eames sucked in a sharp breath. “Darling, this isn’t what I invited you over here for.”

“Change of plans?” Arthur suggested, grinning with eyes half-lidded.

Eames growled, his fingers digging into the boy’s skin. “You cheeky little fucker. I let you smoke my weed and I bring you into my humble abode, and this is how you repay me?”

Arthur’s answer was enthusiastic laugher. “You know your accent gets so thick sometimes I don’t even know what you’re saying!”

Exasperated, Eames slid one hand up Arthur’s back, brought it up to cradle the back of his head, and then kissed the boy on the mouth, hard and wet and needy. Eames’ mouth was so much bigger, his tongue thick and insistent and so very talented as it plundered Arthur’s mouth, mapping every ridge and curve. The hand at the base of Arthur’s skull was firm and secure as Eames’ other hand slid up and under the teenager’s shirt hem. “Arthur, Arthur,” Eames moaned into the boy’s mouth, the r’s rolled so thickly that Arthur was wracked with shivers.

“Yes,” Arthur said, as if answering a question, an unasked question too taboo to voice. “Please.”

The older man opened his mouth to speak, but there was suddenly a knock on the door and they slingshotted away from each other at a sobering speed.

“Eames?” Mr. Thomas’ voice came through the door, and Arthur, his dick tenting his pants proudly, blanched.

“Under the covers!” Eames hissed at Arthur and slid from the bed, going to the door and opening it with a too-friendly smile. “What is it, Wally?”

Frowning at his younger brother, Walter eyed Eames warily. “I can smell pot. I told you, not in the house. That was the deal, remember?”

Eames laughed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, body completely blocking any view into the room. “Sorry mate, I did smoke outside. Thought I’d waited long enough, but I guess not. The smell’ll be gone in an hour or so, don’t worry about it.”

Humming his disapproval, Walter stood on tiptoes to try and look over Eames’ shoulder. “Do you have someone in there? It’s a bit late, isn’t it?” he asked, and was immediately crowded out of the way by his brother, who was clearly nervous. “Hey! You know I don’t mind, I was just curious…”

“Look, you caught us in the middle of something. Love you to death Wally, but fuck you’ve got bad timing. Go back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning, a’right?” Eames urged gently, a half-hearted smile on his face. He was still blocking the view, the door to his room barely even open.

Walter huffed. “Fine. Just… Keep the smoke outside. Kat won’t be nearly as nice if she smells that stuff in her kitchen.”

“Okay, good night, thank you!” blurted Eames, and then he was shoving the door closed and locking it, like some teenager fending off a parent to hide their porn.

Eames turned. Arthur was a ball of blankets, peeking curiously towards the door with a frown on his face.

“Is he gone?” Arthur whispered loudly, and Eames nodded, going back to sit on the bed. Arthur shed his cocoon and laughed with relief. There was an awkward silence between them, and then Arthur was moving closer, sliding his hand over Eames’ chest, nosing at Eames’ cheek. “As you were saying?”

Shaking his head mutely, Eames gently pushed Arthur away and scooted back to put more space between them. “Arthur, this is a bad idea. I could get into a lot of trouble for this, and you could too, do you understand that?”

Arthur was very sober now, had been since the knock on the door. But even though his erection was flagging, he was still very interested in where their previous actions were leading. Eames, on the other hand, apparently wasn’t. Arthur frowned, hands in his lap. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and it was cut short. But right now, neither of us have anywhere else to be, so I think we need to continue where we left off all those months ago. We need to have this talk.”

Hanging his head, Arthur didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then Eames put his large hand on the boy’s shoulder encouragingly. “Alright?” he asked, and Arthur scowled.

“No, not alright. Look, you obviously like me, so why are you fighting it? And don’t give me that bullshit about you being so much older than me, because that’s- it’s bullshit, okay? Yeah, if we got caught we could get into trouble. But that’s why we just make it a priority not to get caught! I don’t get what the hang up is, Eames!” Arthur huffed, and closed the distance between them on the bed. He pressed against Eames’ side and looked the man in the eye, bold and in control of his emotions completely. “I want you. And if you want me, then take me.”

Eames sighed, giving Arthur’s beautiful pink mouth a longing look before turning his head to look at the door. “You’re not old enough to make that sort of decision. You think you want me, but next week you might want someone else. You’re fickle. And fucking hell you’re _so bloody young_! You could have anybody else, why would you- why me, Arthur? Because I’m nice to you? Because I’m a fucking bum who lives with my brother and his family and can barely hold a job?”

Arthur grabbed Eames’ face, caged him in, straddled the older man’s lap. “Stop. Stop asking so many questions. Stop making so many assumptions. Stop fighting me!”

A dusky blush spread across Eames’ cheeks and he tried to look away, his hands coming up to cover Arthur’s. “What would your mother think if she knew? You know she would probably stop letting you see me. And she’d have me arrested-- If she didn’t kill me first. You know you’re her baby, and she’s going to think I- that I molested you or that I took you against your will.”

Eames’ words were half-hearted now, the fight leaving him like a balloon rapidly running out of air. He was ashamed of himself for not being able to fight this with more conviction.

Arthur kissed Eames’ mouth chastely and grinned. “I have that covered. You know, she told me today that she’d noticed that I had some sort of fling for you,” Arthur purred, and he felt Eames tense under him immediately. “Don’t worry, I told her that I see you as a father figure! Isn’t that great? She seemed to buy it. So now she just thinks I want you as my Dad.”

Smoldering grey eyes met sparkling brown, and Eames tightened his grip around Arthur’s wrists. The look he gave the teen was something between aroused and enraged, but before he could say a word, Arthur barreled on.

“Do you like that? Do you want to be my Daddy?” Arthur whispered, dimples suddenly on full display. He felt like he’d found his trump card.

But suddenly he was being dropped on his ass, elbows digging into carpet and head spinning. Maybe his “trump card” was ill-timed.

“Go home, Arthur. We’re done here for tonight.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open. “What the fuck?”

Eames stood and grabbed Arthur’s scarf and jacket, throwing them at the boy. His face was flushed and when Arthur let his eyes travel lower, he saw that Eames was hard, cock bulging against the fabric of his jeans. “Out. It’s past your bed time.”

Standing up and straightening himself out, Arthur scowled and began to put his jacket on. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?”

Not looking at him, Eames snorted. “Someone needs their mouth washed with soap.”

Arthur pulled the zipper up to his chin. “Hmph. See you tomorrow, Daddy.”

The frigid walk back to his house wasn’t so terrible. Arthur was sober as priest, but the grin from when he was high couldn’t be wiped from his face.

He’d found his angle and he was going to wedge that fucker wide open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a beta, but I went back over and fixed any mistakes I saw. If I've changed names of side characters or I've made some other embarrassing continuity mistake, please point it out to me!
> 
> I've got most of my wedding plans ironed out and I've actually got PLOT IDEAS WRITTEN DOWN for the next part, so hopefully you won't have to wait a fucking month for the next installment now that I've got less weighing on my mind. Knock on wood, right?


	4. Super Special Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has more than one side. This story in particular is about about two people. So far you've only heard from one of them. Now, you get to see everything from the opposite side. 
> 
> aka Eames' POV of the first 2 chapters' events
> 
> aka Boku no Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Pjo and Tavin for advice, and comments from others as well that influenced some rewrites and additions.
> 
> Chapter warning for het. This chapter goes into explicit detail (not ungodly graphic but worth mentioning) about the relationship Eames and Vivienne (Arthur's mom) had. If you for some reason aren't comfortable with straight sex, you might want to skip this chapter. You won't really be missing anything, plot wise. This is just a bonus chapter.
> 
> If enough people like seeing events from Eames' point of view, I might do another bonus chapter later on.

Eames had been smaller than the other boys growing up. He’d been short, pretty, with beautiful arched eyebrows and full lips that made people question his gender and make assumptions about his future sexuality. He’d been teased a lot, mostly out of blatant jealousy. Funnier than the other children and more talented by far, he’d been the target of the teachers’ love and other kids’ envy. It was only a mild surprise when, in high school, he gained a reputation for being the school slut.

Women enthralled him, with their curves and high-pitched laughter, their pointed shoes that lifted them three and four inches from the ground. He loved the female figure and found himself getting into plenty of trouble chasing not only fellow students’ skirts, but the teachers’ as well. Eames had more girlfriends than any of the other boys and eventually, more boyfriends than any of the girls as well.

Men made his mouth water. Their strong jaws and sure fingers, wiry frames and naturally competitive nature. Eames loved the rough way the other boys played on the soccer field and the even rougher way they played in the bedroom.

He had been a trend-setter, a part of a new generation, a promiscuous tomcat with a keen eye and a quick hand.

When he graduated, he surprised everyone by promptly packing up what few things he’d grown attached to, shoving them all in an overnight bag, and catching the next flight to Pennsylvania.

+

Eames loved children. They were easy to entertain, completely honest, and seemed to flock to him whenever he found himself in public.

 He’d babysat Ariadne quite frequently until she was about five, when Eames had fallen in with the “wrong crowd” and developed an unfortunate taste for heroin.

After that, the next few years were a bit of a blur to Eames, in which he’d learned to count cards and make a decent living selling fake ID’s. Living in America with his brother and his wife had been a wonderful decision! Until his drug problem put him on the receiving end of a gun barrel, beaten half to death and sporting a newly broken hand, the tendon in his left pinky cut and rendering the finger completely useless.

Walter had intervened then, taking pity and paying for a plane ticket back to London, entrusting Eames with enough money to get into rehab and clean himself up.

Rehab had been absolute hell for Eames. The detox, the group therapy sessions, the solo therapy, the shite food the mattresses that reeked of piss and bleach, all of it had made Eames miserable. The only thing that kept him sane was his mentor Benny, who pushed and pushed, reminding Eames that he had family who loved him and wanted to see him better. Reminding him that he had a beautiful niece that wanted to see him again, **_him_** , not the wisp of a man who’d gotten in deep with loan sharks and even deeper with hard drugs.

It had been a miracle he’d made it through years of sharing needles and borrowing money from people he couldn’t pay back, and Benny had driven that point into Eames’ head, that it **had** been a miracle, that Eames was meant for more, meant to take away a lesson and come out on top. Eames had been given a second chance not to fuck up his life, and he wasn’t going to squander it.

Months later, Eames was feeling clean and happy, excited to be back on his feet. He had sunshine in his pocket and a spring in his step when he walked out of the airport terminal to meet his brother and sister-in-law, and of course, little Ariadne. Small as a thimble at 9 years old, Ariadne had giggled and squealed and kissed Eames’ clean-shaven cheek. Eames was eternally grateful for his brother’s patience, and although Katherine disapproved of letting him move back in with them, she kept a smile on her face and a civil attitude about the whole thing. Eames appreciated that as well.

+

While Eames had been away, a family had moved into the house next door. Some rich family, the father apparently a big businessman who travelled constantly and left his wife and kid at home to their own devices. Eames hadn’t seen them yet, but Ariadne apparently really enjoyed playing with the little boy that lived there, and he would often hear stories of her many adventures with little “Arthur.” Eames was just glad she’d made a friend, the _whom_ part of the equation not much mattering to him.

Odd jobs kept him busy, but it seemed that most places didn’t want to hire an ex heroin addict that hadn’t put enough bulk back on to rid himself of the telling gaunt face and dark eyes. He’d busied himself working out, eating a healthy diet, putting enough weight on to look healthy once again (and then some!). It became harder to look for a decent job after he ran into one of his old dealers at a local nightclub, and he’d had to call Benny back in London to have an almost-cry over the phone and confess that the need to use again had bubbled into his brain at the sight of his pusher.

He’d talked to Wally about it as well and they’d decided that Eames could take a reprieve from job searching for a while and just do chores around the house. Again, Eames had felt grateful for his brother and sister-in-law’s patience.

It was a hot summer’s day when Eames first met Arthur. Eames was 24 and jobless, outside in the backyard by the shed with a tank top on, sweating like a pig and yanking furiously (futilely) at the starter cord on the lawn mower. His hair was too damned long, pinned back with a headband at the moment, his lips quirked in an annoyed grimace as he finally gave up and pulled a crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his back pocket.

Ariadne burst through the back door, a fluffy pink dress on with bare feet, and Eames watched as she bolted across the back yard and towards the neighbors’ outdoor pool. “Arthur, Arthur!” she cawed, standing on her tippy-toes to catch the latch on the iron gate. “Arthur! Mama’s makin’ cupcakes!”

Eames shook his head, a grin framing the cigarette in his mouth. He had no idea how to fix the bloody mower; they hadn’t needed one growing up because they hadn’t really had a yard. Cobblestone and pavement wasn’t exactly known for growing too tall and needing to be cut down. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the mower back towards the shed and stood in the shadow of the small building for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze as he smoked.

A loud splash startled Eames out of his thoughts, and he went over to the gate to take a peek.

“Mm, hel _lo_ ,” he mumbled, leaning heavily against the gate as he watched a woman with tied-back blonde hair make lazy laps around the pool. His fingers curled around one of the thick iron bars, cigarette forgotten and dangling idly from his other hand. The cherry was long gone, a good half an inch of ash leading to the filter by the time the blonde stopped for a rest, pushing up onto the side of the pool and laying herself out on a beach towel.

Her bathing suit was scanty, her skin creamy white and kissed by the sun in placed that had Eames’ mouth watering. Her nails were painted, her hair naturally wheat colored, and her breasts were perfect, _fuck_.

Eames was just weighing the pros and cons of asking if she’d like a shag when he heard a sliding door open and he turned to see Ariadne and a small boy trailing after her. He swallowed thickly and pushed away from the gate, cursing at his wasted cigarette.

“’M going over to Ari’s, mom,” the boy declared, and Eames’ eyebrows shot up as the blonde waved her acknowledgement. That was a mother? She looked the same age as Eames. He’d thought maybe she was a guest, or- or something other than the _mother_.

Whether or not her husband was never home, it wasn’t smart to get involved with a married woman.

“Hey Eames!” Ariadne chirped, “What are you doing? Did you hear? Mom’s making cupcakes. She said I get to help her decorate them! Arthur can help too, she said so.”

Eames put his hands on his hips and smiled down at his niece. “Is that right? Well, the mower’s kaput so I suppose I should come in and watch you decorate the cupcakes, don’t want you cocking them up, Ducky,” he teased with a wink.

Ariadne huffed and smacked Eames, chin in the air as she marched her way back to the house, Arthur in tow.

“Just kidding Ari, just kidding!” Eames snickered and waved at the little girl’s retreating back. He slipped his hands into his pockets and was about to turn back to the shed to clean up when he caught the eye of Arthur, who’d looked back over his shoulder with blatant curiosity.

Brown hair falling at his ears, Arthur still had a round face and even rounder shoulders, a small, pink cupid’s bow and big, curious brown eyes. He wore a black t-shirt two sizes too big for him and cargo pants with bare feet. Circling his wrist was an assortment of colored yarn strings, handmade bracelets. He was a handsome child. Eames could imagine Arthur being one of the children you see in a magazine ad modeling expensive clothing.

Eames waved with a friendly smile and Arthur returned an uneasy one, whipping his head back around and scampering off inside the house behind Ariadne.

Pulling another cigarette from his pocket, Eames watched the children hustle into the house before turning back to the shed to put his tools away and lock up. He had no idea the little neighbor boy would turn out to be such a charming little scoundrel.

+

Despite Eames’ knowledge that he should not get involved with a married woman, he ended up doing it anyway.

The consecutive months after Arthur came into Eames’ life, the older man found himself coming ‘round the Wright household much more often. Vivienne, Arthur’s mother, was a charming woman of 28, beautiful and soft-skinned, and just a little bitter at being left practically husbandless. She wore heels everywhere, loved to show off her long golden legs, and had a cooking skill that was downright professional. Eames was madly in lust with her.

With Arthur’s father all but out of the picture, the boy seemed to be starved for some sort of male influence in his life. Eames thought it was cute how quickly Arthur became attached to him, how readily the boy took to him. He could almost escape feeling guilty for having an affair with Vivienne, could almost imagine himself as taking on the role of Arthur’s father and really being the dad that the boy seemed to so desperately need.

Of course that was incredibly selfish thinking, and Eames also knew he could never be responsible enough to take care of a family, to be the sole bread winner for a wife and child. He’d miss his family too much, wouldn’t be able to afford having a big fancy house with a pool, a nice car or two in the driveway. Besides all that, Eames wasn’t in _love_ with Vivienne. What they were doing was simply to pass the time. He pitied her in the way that one would pity an exotic bird trapped in a cage, unable to fulfill its potential.

Eames and Vivienne kept their taciturn relationship going for over two years. While the kids were at school and his brother and sister were busy, Eames would sneak out the back and stroll through the yard, slinking into the gated pool area where Vivienne would be waiting, a bloody mary in one hand and a condom in the other.

They’d fuck like rabbits, Eames spurred on with the knowledge that he was giving Vivienne what she wanted, what she needed, affording her what her own husband couldn’t. They were both emboldened by the fact that what they were doing was adultery, and if either of them were caught, there’d be hell to pay.

Of course, a good thing never _could_ last, and because damn if it wasn’t Eames’ bittersweet luck, it was Arthur who finally caught him with Vivienne. Poor Arthur, twelve years old and not even gone through puberty yet, walked in to see Eames going down on his mother. Eames supposed it could have been worse, but he immediately felt terrible, like he’d scarred the poor sod for life. All the apologizing in the world couldn’t make up for such a betrayal of trust, Eames knew.

As it turned out, Arthur’s wrath was very nearly nonexistent towards Eames, which mystified the man to no end, especially when Arthur seemed to develop a vicious icy nature towards his mother. Vivienne had cried on Eames’ shoulder at one point, and he’d held her and kissed her as she confessed that she hated having Arthur look at her that way, like she’d done something completely vile—which, she had, but now she was not only deprived of a husband’s love and attention, but her only child’s as well. Eames didn’t know what to say to her. He felt bad for somehow still having Arthur’s adoration, something he could not understand and chalked up to children being strange, fickle creatures. They agreed to stop seeing each other completely, Eames assuring Mrs. Wright that her son would eventually grow out of this tantrum stage and drop the attitude.

Neither Eames nor Vivienne brought up the fact that over the next three years, Arthur would _not_ drop the attitude. Eames never did stop feeling guilty about that.

+

The summer before Arthur started high school was when Eames first started to think there was something up with Arthur.

Ariadne had been out with her boyfriend, and Arthur had been working hard on a project for school, laid out on his belly on the back porch while Eames lifted weights. Eames’ arm would curl, he’d flip through a page of the magazine on his lap, and then he’d catch Arthur staring at him. He ignored it for the most part, until he got done with his magazine and switched the weight to his other hand. “You know a picture lasts longer. Should I get a camera for you?”

Arthur had turned a bright tomato-red, his pencil dropping from his hand, words stuttering from his mouth in a babble. Eames’ eyebrows had risen, and Arthur picked up his textbooks and papers and run off to his own house.

 _Teenagers_ , Eames had smirked, trying to push the entire encounter out of his thoughts. God knew what Arthur’s problem had been.

The next week, Arthur had invited Eames to come over and swim. There wasn’t really a reason to say no, and so Eames had changed into swimming clothes and followed the boy over to the pool.

Barely five minutes went by and Vivienne came through the back door, a wide-brimmed straw hat atop her head, a sun dress cut low on her chest, and two ice-cream cones. Eames tried not to think about how much he wanted under that dress. She smiled, eyebrows arched in interest over her big gemstone-lined sunglasses. “Oh! Charles, I didn’t know you were over. Would you like some ice cream?”

Eames swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat. He pulled himself up onto the side of the pool and took the proffered cone. “Thanks Love, you’re too kind,” he purred, and Vivienne gave him a sly smile before turning to her son and giving the other cone to Arthur.

“I’ll go get another for myself then,” Vivienne announced offhandedly, purposely not looking at Eames as she went back into the house.

It had been silent for a moment, Eames looking wistfully towards the sliding glass doors, until suddenly he felt a presence at his side. He turned his head to see that Arthur had come to sit beside him, their hands almost touching between them, and the ice cream at his mouth as he licked the treat up and down in a very… _liberal_ manner. Eames pointedly did NOT think about how he’d seen that look on Vivienne’s face a number of times in the past and in a very different context.

Arthur smiled, kicking his feet in the water as he licked at the cone. He _seemed_ oblivious enough. Surely a 13-year-old wouldn’t be purposely trying to sexualize such an innocent act. “Would you drive me into Pittsburgh this weekend? There’s a concert I want to go to and mom says I need a chaperone.”

Eames tore his eyes away from Arthur’s shiny wet mouth and stared at the chlorinated water at their feet instead. “That’s almost five hours away, why would I want to do that?”

“Because you’re the coolest person ever?” Arthur cajoled, leaning over and bumping against Eames’ shoulder.

Eames sighed internally with relief. He had thought for the briefest of moments that Arthur might have been flirting with him, but that was a laugh, wasn’t it? The boy’s voice still hadn’t even dropped. Surely he wouldn’t be interest in a man twice his age… Would he? But no, it was just Arthur trying to coax a favor out of him. Eames could have laughed with relief. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was a 13-year-old having the hots for him. He bit into his ice cream and grinned. “Well yeah, but besides that. Maybe I have plans this weekend. Why don’t you get your mum to take you?”

Arthur immediately became shuttered, his smile melting into a scowl. “I don’t want to have my **_mom_** take me to a concert. I’d look like a total _kid_.”

The venom with which Arthur said the word “mom” had Eames feeling guilty again. He wanted to ask Arthur what his problem was, why he felt the need to continue to be so distant with his mother when she loved him so much. Instead, he sighed and licked a stripe of ice cream up before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t see why not. I don’t have any plans, I’ll see if Wally will let me borrow the car.”

Arthur’s arm looped itself around Eames’ and he squealed with delight, cuddling up to the older man. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Arthur crowed, giddy as a teenager girl once again.

A strange warmth presented itself in Eames’ stomach, apparently stemming from the feeling of pleasing Arthur. He liked seeing Arthur happy, liked seeing dimples on that pretty little face. Eames gave in and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders, letting himself enjoy the closeness while he could. Surely this was what a father felt like when their son was happy, right? They sat like that, their sides flush together, until Vivienne slid the back door open again and Arthur pulled away, shoving the last of his cone into his mouth with a prominent frown.

Vivienne looked at Eames curiously and he shrugged. He loved kids but damn if he was completely stumped by their inner workings.

+

The concert had been boring for Eames. It was some punk band with a female lead singer who couldn’t carry a tune, her hair dyed all shades of red, and even with the enthusiasm of hundreds of other teenagers pressing in on him, Eames had been miserable. The only thing that saved the evening was Arthur’s flushed face afterwards, his glittering brown eyes and broad grin. Eames’ hand had been at Arthur’s hip for most of the show, pulling and pushing the teen whenever an overzealous fan would mosh too close or a crowd-surfer would sail by. The small waist under Eames’ large hand moved constantly, swaying with the music and twisting in Eames’ grip. More than once, Eames had to readjust his grip when his fingers would dip embarrassing low. Luckily, Arthur never complained, just kept grinning and fist-pumping to the terrible music he seemed to enjoy.

 After the show, Eames had stood by while Arthur bought as much merchandise as his boyish hands could carry, and then they’d gotten back in the car and driven back towards Gladwyne. Arthur spent the entire trip recounting the set as if for some reason he thought Eames hadn’t been there. Eames wanted to tell Arthur that _yes_ , he **_had_** been there the entire night, had listened to the exact same music, but the fervor with which the boy spoke was too charming. Eames just resigned to listening and nodding along, not complaining one bit when Arthur shoved one of his new CD’s into the player and sang along to every annoying word.

Arthur had fallen asleep at some point during the last hour. He was sweaty and sporting a new band t-shirt, obviously exhausted, hair tousled with sweet-smelling product. Eames ended up carrying him bridal style up to the front door, pushing in the security code to let him in, and then carrying him the rest of the way up the stairs and to the boy’s bedroom.

He sat at the end of the bed and just smiled down at Arthur, admiring how peaceful he looked as his small chest rose and fell with slumbering breaths. It was well after 2AM and Eames was so dead tired, he briefly wondered if Arthur would mind if he fell asleep right there in bed with him. Probably. Boys at that age were very private. Eames sighed and began to pull Arthur’s shoes off, sleepy wonder seeping into his brain as he admired how thin the ankles in his hands were, how tiny the wrists lying limply on the sheets were.

Arthur was growing up fast, but was still so small and young, and Eames was excited to see the handsome young man he’d grow up to be. Although Arthur’s brown hair and eyes came from his father, the soft, beautiful face and mouth definitely belonged to Vivienne. Arthur was lucky in that fact—he’d be turning girls down left and right in the next few years. Eames smiled at the thought and tucked the boy under his covers before heading downstairs. Vivienne was waiting for him near the front door.

“Thanks for driving him halfway across the state,” she spoke quietly, her eyes looking tired and her hair sleep-rumpled. She was gorgeous as always in her lace black boy shorts and satin tank top.

Eames nodded and licked his lips, trying not to stare at her voluptuous body, her wavy hair falling at her shoulders, her bare collar bone he’d had his mouth on too many times to count. “Not a problem. He really enjoyed himself. It’s nice to see him having fun.”

Vivienne stepped closer, blocking the door. She was in Eames’ personal space now, her hands coming up to curl into his coat. She rested her forehead against his chest and sighed. “I’m lonely tonight. Why don’t you stay a bit longer?”

He shouldn’t. He _knew_ he shouldn’t. He was with someone at the moment, a real great guy named—shit, _what_ _was_ _his_ _name_? Brian? Ben? Barney? Eames’ resolve was melting as he felt Vivienne’s breasts pressed to his chest, and he suddenly didn’t care what his boyfriend’s name was, because Vivienne was right here, needy and hot and so very ready.

They somehow made it to the bed, Eames’ jacket lost somewhere on the stairs, his trousers at the bedroom door, his pants around one ankle as pushed Vivienne’s tank top up to her neck. He hadn’t fucked a woman in a couple of months, his mood leaning towards the more masculine of genders as of late. He missed having full breasts in his hands, a soft stomach to rub his face into, missed having an entrance that lubricated itself to the point of being wet before his fingers or prick were anywhere near it.

Condom hastily slid onto his erection, Eames wasted little time in entering her. He pressed his mouth to one breast and sucked and licked, thrusting hard and fast and enjoying the way Vivienne’s long painted nails dug into his sides. One of his hands went between them to play with her as they kissed, and she began to whine, muffled but very audible. He laughed quietly and covered her mouth as he snapped his hips, going from fast and short thrusts to slow and long. “Shh, we need to be quiet, we don’t want to wake Arthur.”

She nodded absently, her forehead covered in sweat, long golden neck arched wonderfully.

Vivienne wasn’t much quieter after that, but Eames couldn’t find the heart to cover her mouth, not when he’d missed this so much. As he thrust, Eames let his gaze wander over Vivienne’s body, fingers grazing her bared neck and lashes brushing her dimples that were so very reminiscent of her son’s. Eames’ face buried in her messy waves of dirty blonde hair and when he breathed in the scent of fruity product, he almost choked.

It was the same product that he’d smelled in Arthur’s hair not 10 minutes ago.

Damn it to hell, now was not the time to be thinking Arthur! Eames tried to think of something else, about how beautiful Vivienne was, about her golden hair, her hourglass figure, her arched eyebrows—details that Arthur did not have. He tried thinking of nothing at all, tried sitting up on his haunches to get away from the prominent smell of whatever the damned shampoo was. It wasn’t working.

Eames couldn’t seem to get the image of Arthur out of his head. Arthur, who had stuck like glue to Eames’ side the entire night, Arthur, who had wrapped his arms so readily around Eames’ neck as he carried the boy to his bed. Arthur, with his thin arms and waist, his soft brown hair and eyes…

Eames was startled when his orgasm hit him. He couldn’t look at Vivienne, couldn’t even get any joy out of the moment, he was too terrified of what his line of thought had meant. He buried his face in her neck and almost sobbed when he breathed in and got a whiff of that ridiculously sweet scent.

Vivienne seemed too lost in her own world to notice Eames’ distress. She had taken over handling herself and as Eames continued to thrust lazily inside of her, and she quickly brought herself to orgasm. Eames still couldn’t look her in the face. He pulled out and threw the condom away, and began to pull his clothes back on. He was ashamed of himself. Yeah, sometimes people think of some weird shit when they are in the mood, and when you are at a certain point in a sexual plateau, you will think just about anything is sexy.

But that didn’t excuse the fact that he had thought of Arthur, of Vivienne’s own _son_ while fucking her.

They kissed once more and Eames snuck out of the house, grabbing his jacket and escaping into the yard. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with trembling fingers, his thoughts scattered.

Three cigarettes back-to-back and he finally let himself trudge to his room, shed his clothing and curl under the blankets. He felt sick. He was a pervert, a no-good disgusting pervert.

He didn’t fall asleep until he heard birds singing outside of his window.

+

By the grace of God, Eames had managed to push the incident out of his mind, for the most part. About a week later he was roped into going over and swimming again, Ariadne and her boyfriend wanting to enjoy the hot summer day with a dip in the pool. It hadn’t been completely terrible until Arthur invited him over for dinner.

The fiasco with Vivienne needing to run out for an emergency had broken the tension wonderfully. It wasn’t poor, innocent Arthur’s fault that Eames was a pervert, and with the two of them alone for an entire night, Eames found himself remembering that all Arthur wanted was an adult male in his life to look up to—a sort of pseudo father to stand in for the one who was never around. The whole night had been marked down as a success in Eames’ book, and he thanked whatever guardian angel was looking out for him that things were back to normal.

Sort of anyway.

+

Except things _hadn’t_ really gotten back to normal.

Arthur always seemed to find himself in Eames’ presence, was always involving himself in Eames’ life whenever possible. If Eames went out for a walk, Arthur was there. If Eames went to the store to pick up cigarettes and milk, Arthur came along. If Eames had a girlfriend over, Arthur would hang all over Eames until the girl decided to come back later. It was cute at first, but overall it made Eames nervous.

Eames’ eyes were always drawn to Arthur, the boy seemed to make sure of that, whether unconsciously or otherwise. School work kept Arthur busy a lot of the time, but after 4PM, Eames was fair game. It didn’t help that Ariadne’s head was so far up her boyfriend’s arse that she wasn’t available for Arthur to hang out with.

Months went by and Eames had learned that Arthur was planning to go into architecture, wasn’t romantically interested in any of his schoolmates, and was slowly gaining an interest in Dungeons and Dragons, thanks to a diorama in his art class.

Arthur was growing taller, leaner, very slowly but surely, and Eames had been less and less able to push away the subtle feeling of wanting to be closer to the boy. He’d had sexual dreams about Arthur, and an extensive Google search had him relieved and telling himself that sex dreams only meant that the dreamer wanted to get to know the person they dreamt about more personally. This had been obvious already, so he let it drop to the wayside.

There was a lot of denial going on in Eames’ life over the months. When the New Year rolled around, and everyone was full of wine and good cheer, Eames denied that he wanted to kiss Arthur when the boy looked over at him with big doe eyes and what was clearly some form of Hope. He smiled politely and turned away, pulling his sister-in-law to him with a purred, “Kiss me, Kate!” that had her scowling. And when the music started up and everyone began to shuffle around and trade each other off, there was a stifling amount of denial as Arthur fell into Eames’ arms and giggled wildly. Denial, because Eames did not want to think about how small Arthur was, did not want to think about the blatant adoration on the teenager’s face, and most certainly did not want to think about how kissable that grinning pink mouth was.

Somehow Eames had made it through the night. It was a Godsend when school started back up and Eames finally found a new job, one that kept him out most evenings. Pining for the attention of a 14-year-old was very unhealthy behavior.

+

It was summer again, and things had been going relatively fine. So really, he should have expected something like this to come up. His luck had to run out at _some_ point, right?

His mother had called him—his mother! He hadn’t spoken to his mother in years other than the odd postcard or Christmas gift. She called him, and her voice was scratchy, tired, exhaustion pouring through every word. She told Eames that she had gotten sick, some new virus that the mosquitos brought over from the Middle East or some such nonsense, and now she was bedridden, unable to work, no one to take care of her. She needed Eames to come help her, because she was too young to be in a home, much too young, and his father still refused to have anything to do with her.

Eames couldn’t say no. There was no way he could leave her like that.

He packed his things, his mood solemn and actions sluggish. He didn’t want to go back to London. He hated it there, hated the weather, the people, the food, everything. And he hadn’t been on the best terms with his mother, their relationship always strained over the fact that Eames was adamant about having a relationship with his father and his step-brother. Eames had planned to stay in America now that he was cleaned up and doing well for himself. Going back was a major setback for his life and what little plans he’d bothered to make.

Of course, Arthur hadn’t been happy about it. Eames would miss Arthur, missed him already. He’d spent the last few years watching the boy grow up slowly into a young man, watching Arthur come into his own, and now what would Arthur do without Eames’ support?

Arthur was being petulant about the whole deal, which altogether wasn’t a surprise. The boy had always enjoyed being petulant with Eames, giving him those big brown puppy eyes that he knew Eames couldn’t resist. Eames was a pushover and Arthur knew it.

It _was_ a bit of a surprise having Arthur drape himself all over Eames like he was. Eames’ arms were around the boy’s waist, and Arthur’s were looped around the man’s thick neck, and they were saying goodbyes as if they were some couple out of a movie. Eames could feel a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, an uncomfortable furl in his stomach that he had never been able to fully stamp out. He’d tried so fervently to push that feeling away, and now here it was again, rearing its ugly head as Arthur’s lips turned down in a pout and his long, thin fingers dug into Eames’ shoulders.

“Arthur, I won’t be gone forever,” he tried to reason. The boy was having none of it. And then before he knew it, Arthur’s lips were pressed to his and all the air was suddenly gone from his body.

It had only spiraled downward from there, Arthur in tears and trying to argue with Eames about how he’d been given all these signals, how he _knew_ that Eames liked him like that, and, okay, maybe Eames _had_ been a little flirty here and there, but **fuck** that’s just how he was, and- and fuck he just did **not** have time for this right now!

In the end, Eames had done a terrible job diffusing the situation. He had left with Arthur mad at him, something he hated himself for letting happen, and in the months following his departure, he was proven to be a liar. He’d told Arthur he’d only be gone a few weeks, and here he was, well into November, and his mother was still too weak to get around by herself. Her immune system had been permanently damaged, and she was wracked with tremors daily, sometimes unable to even feed herself.

Eames had settled uneasily into London life, made peace with the idea that he might be there for years to come. It was a hellish thought, but the prospect of his mother finding someone else to take care of her anytime soon was dim to say the least.

He rang up Benny one day and decided to take a trip into the country to go see him. Benny had his own cottage outside the city, a cozy little nook where he spent his days reading, writing and generally being a recluse. Eames was entirely jealous.

The place had been a bitch to find, most on account of the cabbie being new and not having any idea where the proper roads were. Finally, _finally_ there, Eames gave Benny a big hug when the man opened the door, the two of them all smiles and friendly hello’s.

Benny was handsome in his own way, a woman’s mouth and eyebrows, dirty brown hair curling at his temples, and horn rimmed glasses that looked like they should have been scrapped back in the 80’s. He wasn’t Eames’ type, but he would have fucked him anyway if it wasn’t for the fact that Benny was painfully straight.

“Come in, come in, I’ll put the kettle on,” Benny laughed delightedly, glad at the company.

They chatted about nothing in particular—the weather, whether Eames was enjoying being back in London, how Eames’ mother was doing… And then the inevitable _You’re_ _staying_ _clean_ , _aren’t_ _you_?

Eames had smiled sheepishly and ducked his head. “I’m staying away from bad people and bad drugs if that’s what you mean,” he evaded, and Benny gave him a sour look. Eames shrugged. “I’m staying out of trouble, B. Don’t worry. I’m not who I used to be, I promise you.”

Benny had let the subject drop for the time being.

The two spent a few hours catching up and then Eames had to go, promising to ring Benny up again soon. It had been a nice outing, but Eames couldn’t leave his mother alone for long.

The next time they were together, it was at a coffee shop in the city. Eames was mentioning how he missed America, missed the food and the women and the accents. He omitted the part about missing the teenager who lived next door that evoked terribly perverse thoughts that Eames didn’t need to have. That was something he couldn’t tell anybody. Maybe if he’d been ten years younger, but at almost thirty, that kind of information could damage his image if not lose him one of the only real friends he had.

Benny had been sympathetic. “Why don’t you hire a nurse? You could go over for the holiday, visit your brother, and then come back.”

Eames snorted. “And I’ll get the money for this _how_ exactly?”

Shaking his head, Benny sipped at his latte. “Mm. I’ll call in a favor. Don’t worry about the money.”

Mouth open in shock, Eames shook his head. “What? No, that would be too much. I don’t have the money to pay you back, B, I can’t-“

“Oh, put a sock in it, would you? It’s a favor. From a friend. I realize you probably don’t get many of those, so let me tell you how it works: I do something nice for you, and you pay me back some time in the future by doing something nice for me as well. Get it?”

Eames blushed furiously, unable to fight the grin on his face. He _really_ needed a break. He loved his mother, but he wasn’t cut out for this nursing business at all. It was stressing him out badly. “Thanks Benny. You’re a real mate, you know that?”

The brunette waved it off with the barest hint of a smile. “Just make sure to come back. I can get you a few weeks away but that doesn’t mean spend half a year over there, alright? Don’t make me hunt you down.”

Laughing, Eames leaned over the table and laid a big fat kiss on Benny’s mouth. “I think I can pull that off.”

Benny, visibly flustered, huffed and tugged at his scarf. “You little ponce, don’t do that in public, I don’t need everyone thinking I’m gay! You’ll ruin my chances at finding a girlfriend, you git!”

Eames laughed harder, and Benny couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

When Eames got home, the first thing he did was write a letter. He hoped that Arthur wasn’t still mad at him. And if he was, well, he could suck it up for a few weeks, couldn’t he?


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets his Christmas present. The one he's been waiting three whole years for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for underage and angst. 
> 
> There's no more het on the horizon (at the moment) but at this point if you have a problem with het, I'm not sure you should be reading haha...

Every year at Christmas, Ariadne’s family threw an extravagant party, only one-upped by their New Year’s Eve party a few days later, which was much more exclusive. The Christmas party involved lots of alcohol: American, imported, homemade, foods soaked _in_ alcohol, alcohol assigned to go _with_ certain foods, and anything ranging from spiked eggnog to Absinthe. The teenagers were allowed one glass of wine an hour, while Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Wright cooked a buffet of foods and the men told work stories to each other in the parlor.

It was all very stuffy, what with most of Mr. Thomas’ coworkers from the office crowding the place like sardines. It _did_ however make it easier to sneak more alcohol, Arthur and Ariadne gorging themselves on vodka-soaked maraschino cherries while their mothers’ backs were turned. Boring Christmas music would be played over the stereo while middle adults in prim business suits and cocktail dresses laughed too loud and drank too much before presents were traded off and everyone shuffled out the door well past midnight.

This year, Arthur planned to have a little fun. He was 15 and feeling cocky and sexy in the outfit Robert had picked out for him, armed with cute-as-a-button dimples and a present that would buy him some time alone with Eames. He was prepared to go in for the kill and get what he wanted tonight, and a house full of drunk office workers would cover him nicely.

“Arthur honey, why don’t you take this dip out to the guests and set it on the table? It’ll give you something to do.”

Huffing in exasperation, Arthur rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt and picked up the bowl of chip dip. He knew he shouldn’t have wandered into the kitchen…

“Thanks baby,” Vivienne cooed, stepping over to ruffle her son’s hair affectionately.

Arthur didn’t respond, only scowled as he strode out of the kitchen, dodging businessmen and their wives and heading for the coffee table in corner of the room. He hadn’t seen Eames in a few hours, not after the man had left to get wine, and vaguely hoped nothing had happened. Snow had been falling steadily, not quite sticking, and no one had complained about having trouble on the drive over. Maybe he’d just gotten distracted?

Robert was suddenly at Arthur’s side, a warm hand pressed to his hip as he straightened with a smile. “Hey! You came! I wasn’t sure if you’d show up with it snowing outside like it is.”

Waving a hand in dismissal, Robert gazed casually around the room. “The roads aren’t bad. Wouldn’t miss this anyway—free alcohol and food? Give me a break. Dad didn’t want me in the house anyway, he’s got coworkers over and ‘ _children should be neither seen nor heard’_ and all that.”

Arthur couldn’t imagine what it was like having Maurice Fischer for a father. He could barely put up with his own mother, let alone a rich asshole that treated his son like a complete bother. “Mm. Well I’m glad you’re here. Just don’t let mom see you sneaking alcohol. She’s in the kitchen.”

It wasn’t a surprise that Robert was fun to party with. He looked as much as he was worth, had charmed both Arthur and Ariadne’s mother into giggles, and could talk as much shop as any of the adults in the room. He kept conversations interesting, refused to let anyone be bored in his presence, and although his self-importance would be stifling if he were anyone else, it oddly made the people around him feel special by association.

A handful of vodka cherries later, Ariadne was showing Robert to her room, and Arthur was feeling like a third wheel as the two made out on her bed. It made Arthur’s heart ache to see them, his stomach burning with jealousy as they pawed at each other fervently.

_Where the **fuck** is Eames?_

Arthur got his answer in the form of the front door slamming audibly, and the Brit’s voice floating through the house like music to Arthur’s ears. He flew from the room and went to the railing overlooking the foyer. There Eames was, looking tired and just a little harried. All annoyance at Eames’ tardiness was forgotten as Arthur raced down the stairs and jumped into the older man’s arms brazenly. “Hey! I was worried that maybe you’d gotten caught in some freak snowstorm or something!”

Eames’ hand went to Arthur’s hip absently. “No such luck I’m afraid. I went out to the store and got a call. Things got a little hectic, you see…”

“Hey Arthur, nice to see you again. Merry Christmas.”

At Eames’ shoulder stood a petite brunette, her hair tied in a ponytail behind her head, plunging neckline displaying what little cleavage she had. Arthur knew she looked familiar but couldn’t quite place the woman’s face. She was plain, rosy-cheeked, and wearing a knit cardigan that looked a little too big on her.

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” Arthur replied mechanically, annoyance returning in the form of jealousy. Eames had been gone for hours, Arthur had been worried! And the reason for Eames’ absence was standing here looking dull and so very non-threatening. Arthur half considered telling her this was a private party and to go home. Too bad it was Eames’ house rather than his own. He turned his attention back to Eames, his arms still draped around those big bulky shoulders. “I have a present for you! You should open it before you open anyone else’s!”

Shrugging Arthur off gently, Eames smiled. “Alright Darling, that’s fine. How about you be a dear and get me a drink? Something with alcohol in it, please, there’s a Love.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Arthur stepped back and touched his tie absently, rubbing his fingers over the grey fabric of his sweater vest. Did he look bad? Robert had said over Skype that the outfit looked good… Eames seemed distracted and it made Arthur feel uncomfortable. He looked at the woman, who glanced curiously back. Hmph. “Sure. A screwdriver sound good? For both of you?”

“No! No, no, just me,” Eames corrected, laughing airily and putting a hand to the small of the woman’s back. “Lynn will have something without alcohol, thank you Arthur.”

Pursing his lips, Arthur nodded and backed away, heading to the kitchen to fetch Eames’ drinks. The hell had _his_ problem been?

A screwdriver and grape juice in hand, Arthur found Eames and what’s-her-face out in the living room squeezed onto a love seat. Lynn was whispering something to Eames, and he was looking like he **really** needed that drink. When Arthur approached, Lynn smiled vaguely and began to people-watch. Eames looked eternally grateful.

“So, about that present,” Arthur offered hopefully, sitting on the arm of the small couch and leaning affectionately into Eames’ space. “It’s under the tree. How about you and me go get it? Mom’s probably not gonna let me stay over here all night, so…”

Asking about the present didn’t seem to lighten the mood at all. Eames’ jaw visibly clenched and he took a swig of his screwdriver, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “Later, Arthur. Now’s not a good time. The present’s not going anywhere, we’ll get to it later, alright?”

Lynn frowned at Eames and Arthur just sat in stunned silence. He looked at Eames, then Lynn, then decided he obviously wasn’t welcome and slid off the arm of the chair. “Fine. Whatever,” he mumbled, fleeing the room in an angry huff.

Robert and Ariadne were still sucking face when he returned to her room, unsurprisingly enough. “Sweet baby Jesus, it’s a Christmas party not an orgy, you two wanna give it a rest?”

Ariadne, looking flushed and a little annoyed, level Arthur a look. “What’s your problem? Eames still not here? Calm down Arty, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“That’s not even-!! He’s downstairs, that doesn’t even have anything to do with it, why would I be angry about Eames!” sputtered Arthur, clearly bristled at being called out so obviously.

“Eames is here?” Robert asked curiously, pulling away from Ariadne. “I’ve heard so much about him. Maybe I should go say hi…”

Arthur crossed his arms. “He’s being a jackass right now. He brought one of his ex-girlfriends with him and he’s in a pissy mood, I don’t know why.”

Frowning, Robert opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, Mr. Thomas’ voice called out for attention over the low music and loud chatter downstairs.

“If I could have your attention please, everyone, if you’d just hold on a moment, my brother has an announcement to make.”

Attention fully caught, Arthur wandered back out of the open doorway and went to the railing to listen. From this vantage point he couldn’t see Eames or Mr. Thomas, but he could hear them. He leaned over and waited as Eames cleared his throat.

“I realize I don’t know most of you,” Eames began, garnering a few chuckles, “But this is pretty big news, so I thought you all could appreciate it.”

A sinkhole opened in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. _Pretty_ _big_ _news_? News that Eames couldn’t tell _him_ about? He felt apprehensive, jealous, anxious, and angry all at once.

“My girlfriend Lynn and I-“

 _GIRLFRIEND_?

“-Are having a baby.”

Arthur felt a numbness overtake his body, as if he’d been encased in ice. His steps were mechanical as he raced down the flight of stairs and stood in the doorway to the parlor, staring numbly on as the tipsy businessmen and their trophy wives clapped and cheered. Eames stood, his arm around Lynn’s waist, and smiled tiredly at the room of strangers. Arthur stood and stared as Lynn blushed and unbuttoned her cardigan to reveal what was surely enough a baby bump, one that Arthur hadn’t even seen before. It was small, could easily be mistaken for natural belly weight.

“Six months, yes, I didn’t know I was pregnant until a couple of months ago. The doctors say I’m underweight for how far along I am, but they’ve taken a few tests and they say everything is looking fine, so…”

All attention was on Lynn and Eames was tossing back another glass of something golden, cheeks dusted with an obvious alcoholic buzz. He caught Arthur’s eye and smiled apologetically.

Arthur didn’t know what to do, so he fled. He went through the kitchen, out the back door, and was running back over to his own house, wet snow soaking through his converse shoes and prickling his face like needles. His house was quiet, the back door mercifully unlocked and he  took the stairs up to his room by twos, making a beeline for his bedroom where he darted under the comforter and folded himself into a fetal position.

With Eames now an expectant father, all his hopes of wooing the other man were now dashed! Eames would be tied down to a woman and a kid, unable to spare any time for Arthur. He’d have to get a job and that would be even less time he could spare…

Clenching his eyes shut, Arthur breathed slowly, deeply, any sort of buzz he might have had effectively washed from his system. Arthur would have to find a boyfriend now, move on, stop obsessing over Eames so piously. Eames would probably take Lynn back over to England anyway, and Arthur wouldn’t get to see him anymore. And fuck if that thought didn’t hurt—some bimbo who’d obviously wooed Eames just storms into their lives all pregnant and pushy and suddenly Arthur’s feelings mean nothing, they’re worthless, even more so than they’d been to begin with.

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he’d been brooding by the time he heard his bedroom door open. The light stayed off, the door closed once again, and his breath burned in his lungs as he held it, listened closely to the sound of shoes padding across the carpet. A weight settled beside him on the bed, above the covers, and he dared not pull the comforter away to see who the intruder was. He already knew that familiar weight, could smell the telling spicy cologne even through the thick blankets separating them.

Finally, Eames spoke and Arthur let out a gust of breath that made him so dizzy he couldn’t hear what the man had said. So he stayed silent, feigning sleep petulantly.

A hand lay on Arthur’s shoulder. “Darling, please don’t be mad. Look at me, Arthur, please.”

Oh, how Arthur wanted to. He wanted so badly to throw back the covers and throw himself into Eames’ arms, tell him to forget everything and everyone, and whisk him away to London where Arthur could live as Eames’ house wife and he could do all the cooking and the cleaning and it would be painfully perfect, all of it.

“Arthur…” Eames whispered, gently pulling the cover away.

Arthur couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He threw the cover aside and glared at Eames, hot tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “You asshole! You- you _manwhore_! I love you and you go off and fucking- you knock up some _bitch_! What now, huh? What are you gonna do _now_? You gonna take her back to London and have some wonderful life together, raise a kid and have some perfect life away from the annoying neighbor kid who just wants to suck your co-“

The venomous words pouring from Arthur’s mouth were suddenly sealed off, Eames having had quite enough of the petulant attitude. There was a hot, wet mouth on Arthur’s, hands cupping his damp red cheeks and Arthur moaned into the kiss, his spine melting like molasses on a July afternoon.

Eames ran a hand through Arthur’s soft brown hair, gathering the boy gently into his lap as he sucked on Arthur’s tongue hungrily. Small hands pulled at his suit jacket, and Eames pulled away. “Be quiet now and listen to me, Arthur. I can understand why you’d be angry with me. But you should listen before you start making all these assumptions, alright?”

Arthur nodded with a sniffle, licking his lips to try and taste more of Eames on him, the bitter whiskey burn that made Arthur hot and bothered.

Satisfied, Eames wrapped a protective arm around Arthur’s waist and pressed an affectionate kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “Alright, now look. When I went out tonight, I didn’t expect to get a call from Lynn saying that she needed to talk to me. I didn’t expect to go over to her place and have her show me all these papers that said she was pregnant. And I sure as hell didn’t expect her to tell me that I’m the father. We were only together for a couple of weeks as I’m sure you can remember. I don’t know how it happened, but I trust her and if that really is my child, it’s my responsibility to take of her _and_ it. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing yet. I don’t know if I’m taking her back to London. I’m still in a bit of a daze after being told suddenly that I’ve got a baby on the way, that I’m the father of a woman’s baby, a woman that I don’t even- that I have no feelings for whatsoever!”

The dread that Arthur had felt since Eames’ public confession didn’t dissipate, and even hearing Eames say that he didn’t love Lynn wasn’t much of a relief. Arthur buried his face in Eames’ neck and convinced himself that everything would be okay with him in Eames’ arms, with that spicy cologne filling his nostrils and those big hands holding him like he was some precious gem.

“I’m not ready to be a father, but I have to do what’s right and what’s going to give me peace of mind, do you understand? Now, I don’t need this attitude from you on top of all the stress I’m already going through. You know my mum’s not doing any bit better since I went to take care of her, so I’ve still got that to worry about as well. I need you to be my rock right now, Arthur, can you do that? I need you to keep me sane,” Eames admitted, cheek pressed to the top of Arthur’s head and voice not quite as stern as it should be. His fingers played at the bare skin above Arthur’s waistband and after a moment of silence between them, he pulled back to gaze into teary brown eyes.

Eames smiled and wiped one fat tear from Arthur’s cheek, swiping it away with his thumb. “I’d never leave you here like that, especially not on those terms. You’re very dear to me, Arthur. You’re a little shit but I really like you and I hate seeing you sad. I can’t stand having you mad at me.”

There was a questionable moment between them then, something out of an afterschool special, where they searched each other’s eyes in the moonlight from the window over Arthur’s bed, questioning, wondering who was to make the first move. Soul-searching at its finest. An unspoken agreement that _yes, this is it, this is the time_ rang true between them and all of a sudden there was a hasty rush to get Eames’ jacket off, Arthur’s stupid sweater vest and tie, Eames’ shirt and Arthur’s slacks.

Naked and hard, Arthur arched up into Eames, who loomed above him shirtless and muscled and fucking mouthwatering. Words were lost on him, need flowed through his body like the blood in his veins, and when Eames ground his erection down against Arthur’s hip, Arthur gasped and curled his toes, dizzy with arousal. This was his dream, this was his dream coming true, and he would have cried with happiness if he wasn’t so God damned horny.

Eames’ big hands were all over him, touching him everywhere, brushing the backs of his knees and sliding over his ribcage, mapping the soft young flesh as they kissed deeply. Arthur was so hard it hurt, a tremor passing through his body every time Eames’ stomach or thigh brushed up against his leaking erection. There was a tent in Eames’ pants that Arthur eyed hungrily whenever their mouths parted. “Let me see it, wanna see it,” he babbled, scratching nails down the older man’s sides as he squirmed.

Laughing breathlessly, Eames pressed a wet kiss to Arthur’s mouth and reached between them, unbuttoning his own trousers. Arthur looked at the arm Eames was using to support himself as he whipped his cock out and he gasped, a hand darting out to feel the bulging bicep for himself. He’d always admired Eames’ muscles, how they bunched in his back and stretched taught over a wide barrel chest. Being boxed in by those statuesque arms had Arthur wriggling impatiently, keening in his throat. Eames’ lips pressed to his brow, plush and chapped and damp, alcohol faint on his breath like an aphrodisiac between them.

“How do you want it love, tell me how to give it to you,” Eames breathed hotly against Arthur’s neck, hips grinding against the teen’s thigh.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. “In me,” he choked, “Want it in me so bad, Daddy.”

Eames laughed. “Mm, I bet you do, but you don’t have a condom, do you? Now tell me, do you want it in your mouth? I could wank you off if you like. I could suck you as well, _fuck_ I’ve been waiting _months_ to have you in my mouth.”

Frowning, Arthur pushed up onto his elbows, searching the older man’s dark eyes. “What the _fuck_? Why do we need a condom? I’ve never fucked anyone before!” he naively declared, clearly proud of this fact.

The smile on Eames’ face fell a little. “I’m the one drunk here and _you’re_ the one saying we don’t need a condom? Arthur, sweetie, your perfect little arse may be untouched, but I’ve been around the block a few times. Look, how about I blow you? I can finger you and it’ll feel so good, Arthur. Just let me-“

“WAIT!” Arthur cried, and rolled out from under Eames, “Mom has condoms in her nightstand! Come on!”

And then Arthur was running buck naked out into the dark hallway, completely erect. One day Arthur would have all the time in the world to feel those big hands all over him and inside of him and jerking him off, but good God he’d been waiting for this day for almost _four_ _years_! If there was a chance to get that dick in him, he was not going to waste it.

He flicked on the lamp beside his mother’s bed and turned to see that Eames hadn’t followed him. _“Come on!”_ he hissed loudly, impatiently.

By the time Eames finally came into the room, Arthur had located the condoms and was scrambling up onto the bed, beaming like the sun. “Here! Is this your size? I don’t really uh, know how these work,” he laughed, flushing a little at the confession. Surely a man twice his age who’s fucked so many people would think it silly to not know how to operate a condom. He completely missed the brooding look on Eames’ face as he took the condom from Arthur, was too busy eagerly shimmying up to top of the bed.

His mother’s sheets were silk and felt wonderful on his skin, but when he took a deep breath, he wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, it smells like mom. I hope you don’t mind…”

Eames gaped. “And why aren’t we going back to your room?”

“Because fucking on mom’s bed would be so fun! That’s what you do when your parents are out, right? You fuck on your parents’ bed! Come on, it’ll be kinky. Don’t you want to fuck me on mom’s bed, Daddy?”

Looking rather sour about the situation, Eames glanced towards the doorway longingly. He clearly wasn’t into the idea.

Arthur huffed and got up on his knees, moving to the end of the bed to put his arms around Eames’ chest. “Please? You know she’ll be at that party for a few more hours. Probably. Come on, don’t make me wait any longer, I want it. I want it so bad, I’ve been waiting for so long,” he blatantly cajoled, sliding down the larger body to take Eames’ prick out of his pants. Eames had gone mostly soft, and  Arthur tsked. He’d be having none of that. A blowjob was something he could do, and although he’d hated giving them to Robert, he was sure giving one to Eames would be 100 times better.

And then Arthur remembered that Eames was British, and of course his dick would be uncut. Arthur didn’t know how to handle an uncut penis. Mr. Wright was Jewish, all the penises that Arthur had _accidentally_ seen in the locker room were cut, as was Robert, and the little bit of porn Arthur had seen mostly consisted of foreskin-free entertainment. If there was an uncut dick involved, it was already completely hard and the skin was pulled back enough that the head was at least partly exposed. As it was, Eames was mostly soft, the skin was completely concealing the head, and Arthur suddenly felt a dizzying nervousness overtake him. His confidence withered dramatically.

What if he couldn’t please Eames? What if he hurt Eames dick? Was an uncut penis more sensitive? What if he accidently used his teeth, would it hurt more? How far could the foreskin even go down? Is the spot there on the bottom of Eames’ shaft, just underneath the head—the one that Robert liked so much and the one that he loved dearly?

His palms were sweating and he licked his lips, breath coming out in shallow puffs. Suddenly there was a hand in his hair, a soft hand, encouraging and _so_ _fucking_ _big_. Arthur looked up to see an affectionate smile on the older man’s face. He returned it, albeit nervously.

“You’re overthinking it, darling. It’s the same as yours, just a little more skin. Just- just gently push the skin back and treat it like you would any other cock, alright?”

Arthur nodded and did as he was told, looking from the penis to Eames’ face nervously.

“You’re not going to hurt me. Just try not to use your teeth, alright?”

 _Well of course not_ , Arthur thought to himself and then ducked his head, taking as much of Eames’ dick into his mouth as he could-- which honestly was most of it, since Eames wasn’t fully hard yet anyway. It still made him feel proud of himself, and yes, it was a penis, still tasted like one, still felt like one in his mouth, and that gave him courage.

The hand in his hair shifted, sunk further into brown locks, and a groan resounded deep in Eames’ chest. “Oh yes, you catch on quick, don’t you? _Shit_.”

Eames’s erection had quickly filled out, making it a bit too much for Arthur to fully take in. He was reduced to lapping at the first few inches, swirling his tongue around the head and moaning, his right hand going to the base and stroking in time with his sucking. His head bobbed up and down as he slurped like some porn star slut and somewhere in the back of his brain, Arthur thought about how he’d never put this much effort into a blowjob for Robert, never wanted to please the other boy as badly as he wanted to please Eames.

When the salty taste of bitter pre-cum seeped into his mouth, Arthur shuddered. His left hand went to Eames’ hip, gripping tightly as he took more into his mouth. He tried to relax his jaw and tongue enough to take in more length, but then Eames’ cock bumped the back of his throat and he backpedalled up and off before he gagged embarrassingly.

“S-sorry, it was too much,” Arthur blurted, smiling shyly up at Eames. He bent to go back to the blowjob, but was stopped.

“I think I’m hard enough, don’t you? Lie down.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

This was it, this was the moment! This was the exact second he’d been preparing himself for. All those frustrating attempts in the shower to finger himself, all those fruitless experiments with the toy Robert had bought him for his birthday, every time he’d ever had something in his ass and imagined it was Eames, this was what all those pitiful experiments had led up to. Arthur could have sobbed with happiness.

He didn’t ask questions as Eames followed him onto the bed, pushing his trousers and pants down his hips and sliding the condom on his proudly erect prick. The lighting was low but Arthur could clearly see the need on Eames’ face, the want, and when Eames reached over to the nightstand for the bottle of lotion, Arthur began to squirm. He reached a hand down to stroke himself, then took it away with a sheepish smile when Eames shot him playfully warning look.

Eames was pouring a glob of oil into his hand, slicking up his fingers, and Arthur’s breath was so shallow at this point he was becoming light-headed. “Spread your legs,” Eames growled, and Arthur’s thighs practically sprang apart, knees pulling up at a tight angle. Eames’ voice was so deep it was barely his own, so thick with lust that Arthur really did let out a choked sob, his hands flying up to cover his eyes as he tried to even out his breathing. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

A large hand was on his belly then, rubbing it in soft, languid circles. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s going to hurt, but you’ll like it, alright? Next time we do this I’ll prepare you nice and slow, but this time you’re going to feel it. It’s going to burn. But you can take it, alright? You’re _going_ to take it.”

Arthur’s cock gave a hard jerk, precum dribbling onto his stomach thickly. He took his hands from his face and nodded. Just those words would be enough to fill his spank bank for the oncoming year!

The hand on Arthur’s stomach finally ceased circling once he stopped shaking. It slid down, down over Arthur’s penis, blunt fingernails teasing at sensitive skin as Eames moved up the bed and pulled Arthur into position. Eames’ dry hand went to hook under one of Arthur’s knees and his slicked fingers went to his entrance, forgoing preamble to slowly slip in two digits.

Immediately, Arthur felt wrong. He winced, tensing up as those two fingers twisted and curved, and he fought against his brain as it screamed _that’s not supposed to go there_! Arthur wriggled on the spot, fingers tangling in the silk sheets as he felt Eames jab him repeatedly, the burn almost too painful to want to go on. Just as he was about to voice the fact that maybe they should leave sex for another time, Eames pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his jeans. Arthur sighed in relief and then tensed right back up when he saw the bottle of oil come back into play.

Eames flicked the cap open. “Look, if you really don’t want to do this, I won’t make you. I could get off a million ways, Arthur. It doesn’t need to be with my cock in you.”

Arthur almost wanted the Earth to open up right there and just swallow him. The look that Eames was giving him was… Oh no, he was almost completely soft again. Where had all the sexual charge gone? Was this was sex was supposed to be like? Awkward moments and uncomfortable positions? Arthur steeled his nerves and screwed up his face.

“Just do it. I want it! Come on Daddy, give it to me,” demanded Arthur, and Eames didn’t laugh, didn’t roll his eyes, just smiled silently and slicked up his cock.

It was the most painful thing Arthur had ever been through. Well, probably not, but at the moment it was. It felt like he was being impaled on a spear, torn in half and gutted on Eames’ dick, and fuck almighty, it just wouldn’t end! It went on forever and ever, and Eames was right there, bracketing him in and grunting like a beast as he sunk into Arthur’s hole.

Eames’ fingers were in Arthur’s hair, sticky and soothing as the man kissed Arthur’s eyes, his nose, his lips. “I knew it, I knew you’d take it so well, look at you,” he whispered, and Arthur felt himself trembling again. “You’re so good, you’re perfect Arthur, so perfect…”

With his entire body on the verge of splitting apart, Arthur nodded and smiled weakly. His knees were to his chest, his dick was squished between their stomachs, and Arthur could barely breathe as Eames began to fuck him in earnest. He was going to die, surely, there was too much cock in him, it wasn’t fitting right, it was _too_ _big_!! Eames was too heavy and the world was completely lost to him as his senses were narrowed down to that one spot where they connected. He clawed at Eames’ back, and he was making noise, panting, grunting, sounds that he’d never made before in his life, and then between the long, hard thrusts and the tears prickling his eyes, Arthur realized that his spine wasn’t only tingling with pain, but pleasure as well. At some point, Eames had changed the angle, and Arthur still felt like he was being eviscerated, but there was a jagged-edged pleasure to it, something that made him reach between them and start jerking himself off.

Cumming was suddenly the thing he wanted most in the entire world.

“Oh fuck, you love this don’t you, I knew you would, I knew you’d be such a little slut for it, darling,” Eames rasped, and Arthur mewled pathetically. Eames wrapped his hand around the teenager’s smaller one, and together they jerked Arthur off as Eames fucked into him hard, hard enough to leave an impression, a memory that Arthur would never be able to forget. “Gonna fuck you again later, gonna fuck your mouth and cum down your throat, how does that sound? Gonna fucking eat you out and make you scream, gonna shove my fingers in you and you’re gonna love it.”

The idea of dirty talking had always mystified Arthur, who had always preferred his porn to consist of partners who were silent with each other. But here and now, Eames spitting all those filthy nonsensical things at him, Arthur could definitely see the appeal of dirty talk.

Arthur’s orgasm hit him like a freight train into a brick wall. He yelped as if punched in the stomach and Eames groaned possessively as their interlocked fingers milked Arthur dry. Eames continued to fuck Arthur through his little death, which was a new feeling in itself. He was sensitive, way too sensitive, his mouth hanging wide open and his eyebrows furrowed, a pleading look framed on his face as Eames growled at him and kept going.

“Eames! Eames!” Arthur hissed, fingers digging into the older man’s flesh.

“Just- just a- oh! _Ohhhh_ pet, oh love, oh _mmmm_ …”

Arthur had been wrong. THIS was the moment he’d been waiting for. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his entire life. Eames’ face as he came was… Arthur couldn’t even explain it. There wasn’t a word for it more accurate than “perfect”. He knew he wanted to see that face again and again and again, a million more times, and the feeling of jealousy at all of Eames’ past lovers came up, fierce and overpowering when he thought of how many other people had seen that face, how many others had wrung a powerful orgasm from Eames and felt proud of themselves, just like he did right now.

When Eames was satisfied, he kissed Arthur on the lips with a content grin and pulled out, making sure to give Arthur’s abused bottom a quick once-over. Arthur blushed as he was given the all clear, and he sat up, staring at the floor. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, fingers sliding up into his hair, a kiss on his shoulder. “You were so good for me, baby. Absolutely brilliant.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder with a modest smile. “Really?”

Eames pressed a kiss to the boy’s lips. “Mm. Now get out of here and go to your own room while I clean up in here. We don’t need your mum knowing we just shagged in her bed.”

Grinning, Arthur pushed off the bed and scurried out of the room and back to his own down the hall. His ass was killing him… He went to check the damage for himself in the bathroom, and smirked at all the cum on his belly, matting the tiny amount of dark hair dusting his pubic area. He’d never in his life felt more accomplished.

“Arthur?”

Switching the light off, Arthur came out of the bathroom and smiled. It was pitch dark in the room, but even in the low light from the windows, Arthur could see that Eames’ hair was rumpled, his shoulders slack, relaxed. He went to sit on his bed, shyly covering his lap with a blanket.

Eames joined him, their thighs pressed flush between them, Eames’ arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Alright it doesn’t look so bad in there. Are you coming back over to the party or are you going to bed?”

Arthur thought about that for a moment. He really, really needed to use the bathroom, but he was too wired now to go to sleep. Ari and Robert would probably get pissed if he left them there as well… He snuggled against Eames’ side and played idly with the hair on his chest. “Any chance we both could stay here and go to sleep? You would make the perfect big spoon.”

“Mm, ‘fraid not, pet.”

“Ugh. Fine. Well, I still need to give you your present anyway,” Arthur reasoned and then stood, going to grab his underwear and socks. “Just give me a minute.”

-

The party was still going strong by the time they made it back, the both of them slipping through the kitchen door and past the small crowd gathered around the hors d'oeuvres. Arthur’s ass was killing him, a steady ache at the base of his spine that made him want to limp to the toilet and stay there for the rest of his life, but at the same time it was just so sweet knowing _how_ he got that ache that he couldn’t wipe the proud smile off his face. Eames had given the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze before vanishing back into parlor to find Lynn, and Arthur found Rob and Ari upstairs munching on cocktail weenies and playing Bullshit.

Ariadne smiled when she saw him. “Hey, you okay? Thought maybe you were sick or something, the way you rushed out of here like that.”

Robert just stared, raking his ice blue eyes up and down Arthur’s body in a knowing manner. He smirked but said nothing.

“Yeah, I- the vodka cherries, they didn’t sit well with me. Start the game over, I wanna join.”

-

Everyone was gone, the family was asleep, and Arthur’s mother had wandered back home hours ago, drunk and content with life. Arthur should have been home in his own bed, but instead he’d stayed, the reward for doing so too much of an offer to pass up.

Naked and on his belly, Arthur sighed in pleasure as Eames’ big hands roamed up and down his back, massaging his shoulders and neck, calloused fingers digging into pale flesh. The present Arthur got for Eames sat in front of them—a sleek silver case opened to reveal a personal poker set with six rows of different colored chips, 5 ruby red die, and 2 decks of cards. Arthur had babbled and blurted about being unsure if it was a stupid gift, not knowing if Eames still even played cards, and Eames had shut Arthur up with a deep kiss and a low purr, assuring him that the gift was perfect and he loved it.

And then they’d stripped naked, Eames pinning Arthur to the bed and devouring his mouth as they caressed and groped each other like the new lovers they were. Hard and panting under Eames, Arthur had begged to be fucked again. Eames denied him, instead going down on Arthur like a man in the desert, thirsty for water. Those big lips enclosed around Arthur’s cock and it only took a few jagged thrusts up into Eames’ mouth for him to cum. Before Arthur had even fully come down, Eames rolled him over and began to rub his back, pressing wet kisses to each and every beauty mark and scar he found on Arthur’s skin.

Arthur had almost fallen asleep when Eames finally broke the silence.

“You still awake, pet? We need to have a discussion.”

 _Shit_.

“Hey. Look, I know you’re not too keen on the idea of Talks, but I need you to understand a few things, alright?”

Arthur groaned and turned over, tucking himself against Eames’ side. He frowned. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get this over with.”

A hand came down to pet Arthur’s hair, fingers threading through his mussed brown locks as Eames’ British accent lulled him back into a mildly comfortable zone. “What we’re doing here now, we can’t let people know. You’ll get a slap on the wrist and I’ll get slapped into jail, do you get me? Arthur you are very dear to me, and I don’t ever want to lose you. So we need to be careful. I need you to not tell your friends, I need you to make sure your mum doesn’t find out, and- and really, I know the odds are low as it is, but your father shouldn’t hear about it either. I’d like to keep my prick intact, know what I mean?”

Arthur nodded, his own hand coming up to play with Eames’ chest hair. “I know, Eames. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Eames breathed, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “I’m just saying that accidents happen, and this is not a situation where accidents are allowed to happen. And about Lynn- don’t give me that face, I told you earlier that I need to do what’s right. If you want to do this, you’re going to have to be civil with her. Don’t be mean, don’t act jealous in front of her, don’t- don’t cock this up. I don’t know what all I’m going to be doing about the situation right now, but she’s going to be staying at her place with her mother and I’m going to be staying here. You won’t be seeing a lot of her yet, but when the baby comes, she’ll be around a lot more.”

There was a stirring in Arthur’s stomach, a nausea bubbling deep within him at the thought of a woman giving birth to Eames’ child. Not for the first time, Arthur hated his terrible luck at being born a male. The hand in his hair continued to gently pet him and his hackles lowered back down.

“Alright. And you know I still don’t know what I’m going to do about my own mum. I can’t leave her in London with her sick like she is. I’m going to have to go back over. And I need a job… I need a lot of things. This is just my rotten luck, you know? Oh, that’s terrible of me to say, a baby is a blessing, isn’t it?” Eames laughed, dropping down on his back and sighing at the ceiling. “Fuck. I need about three other me’s and I’ll be set.”

Arthur sat up and stared down at Eames, his naked body and his tattoos, his slowly heaving chest, the perfect jawline… He knew he couldn’t fuck this up. He knew he couldn’t deal with losing this, what little they had together. He’d worked way too hard. “I’ll do it. Anything you ask, anything you want. I won’t fuck this up, I promise.”

Eames looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You sound confident.”

“I am!”

“Mm. Well. We’ll see,” came Eames’ reply, and he sat up too. He cupped Arthur’s face and they stared at each other for a moment, Arthur’s heart picking up pace in his ribcage. “I still haven’t given you your present yet. I’m afraid I don’t really have one. I know it’s cheesy and maybe a little conceited but... Hopefully you’ll just accept me as your gift. I’ll give you something later to pay you back for that clever set of chips you bought for me, how does that sound?”

Appearing to think about it for a moment, Arthur quirked his lips to the side and draped his arms around Eames’ neck. “Yeah, that _does_ sound totally cheesy. But you know, I kind of like that idea. How about you do me from behind this time and we’ll call it a deal?”

Grinning, Eames narrowed his eyes. “You are one cock-hungry little slut, d’you know that? I give you an inch and you take a mile!”

“You gave me more than _one_ inch, don’t be so modest.”

They collapsed back on the bed in a fit of laughter then, Arthur giggling wildly and Eames muffling his own chuckles in Arthur’s neck. Their mouths found each other once again, and Arthur let himself be dominated completed, let Eames suck on his tongue and bite at his lips, let Eames turn him onto his stomach and trail a wet tongue down to the crack of his ass.

Some people spent Christmas with their family. Some people spent Christmas at church. And some people even spent Christmas giving to the less unfortunate.

Arthur Wright spent Christmas with Charles Eames’ tongue up his ass. Honestly, he couldn’t even find it in himself to regret it.

 

 


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Spring Break in Gladwyne. Arthur and Eames receive a surprise.

In those last few days before Eames had to leave, Arthur rarely left the man's side. They took any and all opportunities to sneak away and be with each other, squeezing seconds into minutes like the world was ending and this was it, this was all they had left was each other.

For Arthur, the world might as well have been ending. Between kisses and over touches, snuck into the crevices of moments he could bare to spoil, Arthur would beg for Eames not to leave, or to take Arthur with him to England, anything to escape the impending loneliness that weighed heavy in the boy's heart. They both knew it couldn't happen, not with Arthur still in school and Eames having dire priorities to attend, but it was nice to indulge in those miniscule moments where Eames would say _yes, okay, I'll stuff you in my bag and we can join the mile high club and then you can be my Kept Boy._

Arthur enjoyed the romanticism of it all, the evening trysts behind Ari's house in the cramped shed and the promises to write and call and text and email, the whole shebang. Riding in Eames' lap, the both of them pink and sweaty and stupid with endorphins, Arthur thought he'd be mighty happy if the world ended and that was the last thing he experienced-- Eames dick in his ass and those big hammy arms around his tiny waist.

Unfortunately, the date on Eames' plane ticket came around in the end. It wasn't a good day for anyone. Icey rain poured down in sheets, turning noses red and toes numb. Arthur couldn't go to the airport, couldn't see Eames off, because they'd already been spending a suspicious amount of time together and the last thing either of them needed was to be given a talking-to about why it's a bad idea for them to be so close. Arthur the 15-year-old, straight-A student and Eames the 30-year-old, ex-druggie con artist,two opposites bound to drag each other down (especially Arthur, with a full life of high-end opportunities awaiting him as long as he kept up with his studies and stayed out of trouble.)

Vivienne was out at the grocery store when Eames came over to give his last good-bye. It was quick, with Arthur's trousers at his ankles and his face stuffed into the mattress. “Daddy, oh Daddy _please_ ,” sang Arthur on a jagged tune, though Eames probably couldn’t have fucked him harder than he already was.

Rain beat violently against the window in an echo of the damage Eames was doing to the boy bent over the side of the bed. The only physical marks Eames left were at Arthur's hips, but with each inward thrust, Arthur felt closer and closer to tears, as if being fucked was tantamount to lashings from a whip leaving welts in their wake.

When they could draw it out no longer, when Arthur's knees quaked and his tears spilled over, Eames bent and scooped his boy into a spooning position, broad chest to slender back. Still connected but no longer with a sexual end in sight, the two of them held each other and kissed, Arthur's neck at an uncomfortable angle to reach Eames' mouth. Their lips met and their fingers dug in, neither of them wanting to let time progress but not having a choice in the matter either.

"Be good for me, Arthur," Eames whispered against the teen's mouth. Arthur hated it when Eames said that, because it sounded like something a parent would say. But this time, Eames said it anyway, because he wasn't just a lover, but an adult as well. A friend, a mentor, a lover.

Arthur nodded with red, watery eyes. Tears flowed freely down the side of his face, crossing the bridge of his nose and leaking into his sweat-damp hair.

"I love you," Arthur croaked.

Eames kissed Arthur's eyelids with a sad smile. "Love you too."

And that was it. Eames stood and tossed the condom in Arthur's bin, tucked his flagging erection away, and left without a backward glance. Arthur kicked his pants the rest of the way off and grabbed a towel from the closet in preparation for a long hot shower, but couldn't help returning to his bed one last time to peek out his window and watch Eames sprint for the Thomas' porch and refuge from the rain.

He couldn't be sure, nor could he even really see through the veil of water on the glass, but Arthur liked to imagine he saw Eames look his way one last time.

-+-

School would start back up soon, and in the week or two before then, Arthur found himself at Robert's more often than not. With the boy's father out so often and the mother not in the picture at all, the two teens were allowed to get up to pretty much anything other than burning the house down, so Arthur liked to go over and hang out in the jacuzzi and listen to music at obscene volumes, he and Robert alternating between watching R rated movies and playing M rated video games. Absence may have made the heart grow fonder, but blowing zombies' heads off with shotguns turned out to be a wonderful band-aid.

Though Arthur still loved hanging out with Ariadne as well, he hated that she and Robert were seeing each other. Whenever she'd come over, her and Robert would spend most of their time sucking face and fondling each other, much to Arthur's dread. No amount of first person shooting could stop Arthur's heart from aching on those days when his best friends flaunted their relationship freely.

"Get a room, Jesus." Arthur would say, to which Robert would usually respond, "Just because _you're_ not getting any doesn't mean I can't either."

Arthur knew he deserved such answers, but it stung the just the same as if he hadn't.

It was a blessing when school returned to session and Arthur had something to do other than hate everyone and everything.

There were very strict rules about having your phone out in class, but Arthur began to slip his out of his pocket every time the teacher turned their back to send a message to Eames, who'd finally gotten a "mobile" and promised to check it as often as he could remember. Even if Eames didn't reply, Arthur would text some mundane observation in a one-sided attempt to feel closer to the man who was an entire time zone and ocean away.

" _Mrs Johnson is such a bitch today_ " he'd send even though Eames had no idea who that was. " _Kevin in economics got a piercing and now I really want one :( Would u still love me if I got my nip pierced?_ "

Sometimes he'd get an answer, and have to bow his head to hide his grin. Eames took an hour to text just a few simple words, having not quite gotten the hang of the tiny keyboard yet. " _Sorry was sleeping and dreaming about u_ " he'd say, and then much later, " _Pay attention in class or no dick picks_ "

Eames' struggle to figure out how to take pictures and send them was a whole other adventure. London was 5 hours ahead, so  phone sex was hard to accomplish-- either Arthur's mom was home, or Eames was asleep. Apparently, the apartment Eames was staying in with his mother was small with only the one bedroom, so Eames slept on the couch, which complicated things further when Arthur called and begged for dirty talk. It was always either one-sided or whispered, and the exciting taboo concept of it grew old pretty fast. A month of jerking off to poorly lit dick pics was enough to drive Arthur up the wall.

At one point, Arthur was feeling particularly lonely and depressed. He sent off a text he'd been mulling around for a good day or so, (" _Are we exclusive?_ ") only to have Eames call almost immediately and give him a good hard scolding.

Voice rough with sleep, Eames hissed through the phone, “It’s not even been two months and you’re already wanting to cheat on me, is that it? Is that what I’m to think? Arthur, you’re not the only one who’s lonely here. D’you think it’s easy for me being all the way over here, missing you? D’you think I’m over here having the bloody time of my life?”

Arthur felt sick to his stomach just hearing Eames accent, thickened and rough from the late hour. He wanted to sink into his bed and meld with the wire mesh, become an inanimate object with no feelings and no worries. He wanted to take back his text and go back to pretending he wasn’t touch-starved and sickeningly lonely.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and the sound precursed a well of tears he fought down. “It was just a stupid question. I don’t want to cheat on you, it was just… I just wondered. Sorry.”

Through the phone, Arthur could hear Eame scrubbing his face with a frustrated groan. “I think about you constantly, Arthur. I think about how I’ve told you a million times there’s better for you than me. I think about the fact that I’m twice your age and can barely keep up with you. I think about the fact that I love you so much and how glad I am that I gave in to you because you make me happy, Arthur. You make me so happy and I didn’t want to leave you, I didn’t want to come back here, but I had to and I trusted that you could wait a few months. But if I was wrong, tell me now, because if having to wait makes you so unhappy that you absolutely cannot do it, then we can go back to the way we were. But I’m not going to play games with you Arthur, and I’m not going to fight for you. And I sure as bloody fuck am not going to share you. D’you understand?”

Unable to even muster up the pride to be indignant, Arthur licked his lips and just said, “Yes. I understand.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but Arthur couldn’t silence his sniffling and Eames finally broke. Much softer now, Eames apologized. “Fuck. I’m sorry for that. Mum’s not doing so well and it’s been getting to me. It was just a bad day today, and what you said… that text, it just really got under my skin. I didn’t mean to talk to you like that.”

Arthur nodded even though Eames couldn’t see it. He bit his lip and wiped his wet nose on the corner of his blanket. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for even sending it, I’m just… I don’t know, being dumb. This is the first um. Relationship I’ve been in, and it’s weird for me, having to be alone for so long even though I’ve got a- a boyfriend. You know?”

Eames laughed. “Well I’d rather you voiced your doubts than not, to be honest. I mean, I’d like for us to be exclusive. But I’m going to be here for awhile longer, and if you don’t want to wait… We can take or break maybe. I’ve got my hands full here, so I’m going to be white-knuckling it until I get back. S’pose it’d be selfish of me to ask the same of you?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I like knowing that you want us to be exclusive. It’s not something we talked about before you left, so I guess I was just having doubts. But this has really, um. Cleared them up.”

“Are you sure? Because I love you Arthur, and I want you to know that what you want matters to me.”

It was Arthur’s turn to laugh then. He buried his face in his pillow and grinned, his knees coming up to his chest and toes curling. “Yeah. I’m sure. A million percent sure. I’m just happy to hear your voice.”

They said good-bye then, because it was almost 4AM for Eames and Arthur still had homework to work on. The moment Eames’ end clicked off, Arthur curled the blanket over his head. He had only been lying a little bit when he said he felt better. The deep hole in his heart still felt terribly vacuous.

-+-

The winter progressed longer than it should have.

Arthur stayed holed up in his room, having found several new bands he loved, their albums on repeat as he bowed over his desk and worked his ruler jagged. His art teacher had specifically told him that if he was aiming for Penn State, he'd need a thorough portfolio, and with less than two years left to make one up, Arthur figured he might as well get a head start. Hopefully it and a penned letter from his art and architecture teachers would get him in, though it was still ridiculously early to tell.

His mother received phone calls from a mysterious caller over the course of almost a month, and the sound of her laughter could be heard ringing through the quiet, empty house in a way that made Arthur feel almost jealous. He almost considered asking her if she wanted to go see a movie with him until he remembered that going to the movies alone with your mom wasn't cool, not at 15. What if someone from school saw him? God forbid "Mama's Boy" is added to the "Fag" and "Queer" catcalls he was still pelted with in the hallways every now and then.

Perhaps a trip to Red Box would be just as good. The popcorn would be cheaper, for sure.

With Spring Break just a couple of weeks away, Arthur had been figuring a vacation with the Thomas family again, somewhere warm like Cancun if he could find his passport. They'd been talking about a cruise to the Bahamas as well, which surely his mom wouldn't mind letting him attend. An endless buffet and no restricted drinking age? Fuck yeah.

"Arthur!" purred Vivienne from her son's doorway, and the boy rose from his desk and leaned back in his chair, rolling a kink from his stiff shoulders. "How much do you love me?"

The only time she asked such questions were when she'd bought him something, or had really good news. Immediately, he perked up. With a grin, he demanded "What did you get!?"

"It depends. _How much do you love me_?"

Screwing up his face like a child receiving a spit bath, Arthur huffed petulantly. "Moooooom! You know I love you. What did you get me!?"

Haughty laughter passed Vivienne's lips and she produced a dark blue, slender envelope coupled with a passport book. "I carried you in my womb for nine months and now you're too old to tell me you love me. I don't even know why I bother!"

She padded into the room and dropped the items in front of Arthur, crossing her arms and waiting.

Arthur opened the passport. "Oh, I was looking for that. Are we going somewhere?"

Sliding the small book aside, Arthur opened blue envelope to reveal only one plane ticket, with his name on it. He turned it to get a look at the location, and his heart stopped dead in his chest. The ticket was for a trip to Gatwick Airport, in London, for the entire week of Arthur's Spring Break.

He looked up at his mother with fear. Fear because he wasn't sure why she'd done this, and fear because if it was a joke, it'd be the cruelest he'd ever experienced and never would he forgive her for such a thing. He asked, "Is this a joke? Is this for real?"

Vivienne gave him a funny little smile. "It was Eames' idea. He called and asked if you had any plans for your break, and I said that you hadn't settled on anything yet. He said you could go over, see the countryside if you wanted. Ticket's refundable if you-"

She was unable to finish her sentence, arms now full of teenage boy and face covered in a barrage of kisses. Vivienne laughed and hugged her boy, held him as he wrapped his legs around her waist and howled his glee.

"YES OF COURSE I WANT TO GO!" Arthur screamed, arms tight around his mother's neck. He kissed her cheeks and her nose and her mouth and her eyes. "THIS IS THE BEST PRESENT, I LOVE YOU MOM, I DEFINITELY LOVE YOU!"

Arthur slid to the floor when his mom complained about his weight being too much for her back. But he couldn't stop hugging her, couldn't stop squealing. "I have to call Ari, Oh my God. I have to call Eames! This is so great, Oh my _God_!"

Vivienne let herself be shooed out of the room, and Arthur snatched his phone from the bed. Eames answered on the fourth ring. "Evenin' love."

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Arthur screeched into the phone. "YOU BIG ASSHOLE! JERK! HOW COULD YOU! HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS SECRET FROM ME, I HATE YOU!"

Eames' voice was audibly tinged with humor. "I'm an arsehole? Well you don't have to come over, you know. Your mum can just get a refund and you can go with your friends to some posh little island for a week where it's warm and sunny."

"Fuck you, of course I'm coming over! Oh my God, I just can't even believe it. Is this really happening?" Arthur asked, falling back on his bed, legs over the edge and toes digging into carpet. He held the ticket above his face, unable to take his eyes from the printed blue text. "I love you so much. I love Mom too, but I just love you so much. I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm going to see you."

"Well you don't have to believe it as long as you're over here. You can cozy up with me on the futon and then maybe I'll take you into the city."

They talked until dinner time, when Arthur's mother called him down to eat. Arthur confessed his undying love for Eames about a dozen more times, danced his way down the stairs feeling lighter than air.

After dinner, he asked if Vivienne wanted to watch a movie. He felt like she deserved a little of her son's time, after everything. She kissed his head and told him she'd take a raincheck.

"But if you want to do the dishes, I won't say no," she added, picking their plates up and taking them to the kitchen.

"I'll take a raincheck," he drawled, and pushed out of his chair.

A young boy has his limits after all.

\----------------------------------------------

 

" _I love you so much!_ " Arthur cried into his phone, and Vivienne stopped at the top of the stairs. She looked towards the light of her son's bedroom and narrowed her eyes.

" _I love you so much._ "

Vivienne tried to recall where she was at 15 years old. She tried to recall the personal words she penned in her diary, and the private moments she'd sneak away to have with one of her many boyfriends. The bottom of the stairs, only a few short feet in front of her, blurred as she recalled her own behavior at Arthur's age. She wanted to remember only the good parts: the blowjobs in cars, the smeared lipstick on collars, the confessions on crisp pink pages about her feelings for the men in her life, each one a treasure to a girl like her who was discovering her body and embracing the sexual freedom that rang in with the new decade.

Ultimately, with the good came the bad. Her father's rage and her mother's tears as they shoved her diary in her face like they would a dog in it's own puddle of piss. The disgust as her father quoted excerpts of her personal thoughts and feelings that she thought he wouldn't find out about. Her mother's voice cracking as she called her daughter a whore. And finally, the absolute disappointment when they found out she was pregnant before having even finished high school.

Did she want to be _that_ parent? Did she want to eavesdrop on a conversation that she wasn't a part of? Should she ask her son the questions she already knew the answer to and drive an even further rift between them? Arthur becoming a teenager had already done enough damage to their parent-child relationship. The struggle for independence and an innately rebellious nature made Arthur impossible to please as it was.

No, she did _not_ want to be that parent. If Arthur wanted her to know about his personal life, he'd tell her. He was young, but he was allowed to make mistakes. He was allowed to live his life. And as long as he was being safe, she didn't see a problem with... Whatever it was that he was doing.

"Just no hard drugs," she whispered to the ceiling, crossing her fingers.

 

\----------------------------------------------

-+-

Over the course of the several-hour flight, Arthur made friends with a couple of old women whose British accents were so thick he had to keep asking them to repeat what they'd said. Each time, they'd giggle and pat his knee, repeat what they said slower but still impossibly garbled to Arthur's ears, and he'd nod like he understood perfectly. Apparently they were sisters from Yorkshire, and Arthur looked like at least _one_ of their husbands in his youth. The women bickered over exactly _which_ of them had the husband while an amused Arthur nodded, digging into another bag of pretzels.

When the plane finally touched down, Arthur felt exhausted, mentally and physically. He'd never had to turn down so many tic-tac's in his life, and he was pretty sure at least _one_ of the old gals had pinched his bottom as he fetched his bag from the overhead compartment. Next time he was putting on his head phones and feigning mute the entire trip.

Eames was waiting for Arthur at the terminal, looking tired and anxious in a peacoat with what looked suspiciously like bed-head. It was the most erotic combination of sexy and grungy that Arthur had ever laid eyes on, and he'd be lying if he said his knees didn't get weak immediately.

“DADDY!” he screeched, dropped his suitcase at their feet and jumping into the man’s arms and planting a hard kiss right on his mouth. Eames held him tight but did not kiss back. Already, people were giving them looks that ranged from disdain to impressed. Someone nearby gave a catcall and whistle.

“Alright pet, save it for later,” whispered Eames, though the smile on his mouth betrayed his pleasure at the lewd greeting. “Even here they frown upon snogging minors in public.”

Snickering, Arthur let himself drop but planted another kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. They left the airport arm in arm, with Arthur talking a mile a minute and pressing as close as possible to Eames’ side without being directly under his feet. It was too loud to talk, and the both of them were too excited to meander, so they saved conversation for the cab waiting outside. Even then there wasn’t much talking compared to the amount of cuddling and snogging they ended up doing.

“How was your flight?” Kiss.

“Long. These two old ladies kept flirting with me, it was terrible.” Kiss.

“Did you tell them you were taken by a dashing older man who’d gladly fight for you?” Kiss.

“I told them I had a boyfriend. And that I couldn’t wait to land so I could run into his arms in slow motion, like in the movies, and kiss you for five minutes straight while some stupid pop song plays its crescendo over the loudspeakers. Maybe Paramore.” Laugh.

With an exaggerated eyeroll, Eames shook his head and pushed Arthur away with a hand on the boy’s face. “You little tart, I bet you actually told them that. I can’t even deal with you. Up all night because I was too excited for your arrival and here you are, comparing our love life to a serendipity flick.”

Arthur smacked Eames’ hand away and gave the man a sheepish grin. “Are you surprised?”

“Not in the least.”

They kissed again after that, Eames pulling Arthur back and slipping his tongue into the boy’s mouth with all the passion of a man starring in a _serendipity flick_. Arthur melted like putty in his arms, and they stayed like that for the rest of the ride.

When the rush of the city waned into calm countryside, Arthur lifted his head from Eames’ shoulder. “Is this still London?” he asked.

Eames had begun to doze. “This is Bromley,” he mumbled.

Arthur frowned. “I thought you lived in London.”

Shrugging, Eames looked out the window. “It’s just beside London. If I’d said Bromley, would you have known where it was? Figured saying London would give you a better idea of where it was.”

This seemed to satisfy Arthur, and he looked out his own window to watch the fields go by, broken here and there by a dotting of old houses and train tracks. There was a town in the distance, getting closer the longer they drove. From beside the boy, Eames could tell that Arthur seemed a little disappointed. He leaned down conspiratorially and whispered, “This is the long way around. I promise it’s not as boring as all this.”

“Faster this way, avoids traffic,” spoke the driver, and Arthur nodded. Indeed, the closer they got to the town, the more the population fleshed out. Soccer fields and schools came up, and old churches straight off the face of postcards and surrounded by graveyards. They passed through a strip of boutiques with people milling in and out of them. Apartments and shopping malls, eateries and pubs.

They stopped outside a line of apartments that looked older, in a gloomy part of town. Eames got out, and Arthur followed. There was a door, and a staircase leading up to the second story, and then a long hallway stretching the span of the building with each apartment door on the left and windows on the right that gave a view of the street outside. Eames’ apartment was four doors down, with a faded green door that could seriously use a new paintjob.

“Home sweet home,” Eames said, and pushed open the door.

It was a tiny hovel of a thing, with a small foyer where they took off their shoes and a sitting room that wasn’t much bigger than it. The futon sat against one wall, with a table beside it. Against the other wall was an entertainment center sporting a line of photos in square frames, and a TV that was probably older than Arthur sitting in the middle of it. Black and boxy and discolored at one corner, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at the charming quality of it, along with the rest of the tiny apartment.

“It’s very you,” Arthur commented, glancing at the faded paintings on the wall.

Eames wrinkled his nose. “Small and old? Thanks a lot, I needed that confidence boost today.”

Arthur shook his head and slipped his arms around Eames’ waist. “No. Charming, and it feels like Home.”

Their mouths met once more, but then a noise broke the silence between them and Arthur stumbled quickly away. He’d forgotten completely that they weren’t exactly alone.

“Eames? That you?” came a croaked call from a cracked door against the far wall.

Feeling shy and a little embarrassed, Arthur ducked his head and watched Eames go to the door and push it open. “It’s me, Mum. Went to get Arthur from the airport. How’re you feelin’? Oh, mum, you didn’t put makeup on did you? He’s fifteen, you saucy bird!”

From the open doorway, Arthur peeked in to see Eames sitting along the edge of the bed. A lamp on the side table was turned on, and from there, Arthur could see a woman wasted away to almost nothing. She smiled over her son’s shoulder, and in the dim light, Arthur could see that she’d put on lipstick and rouge. He couldn’t tell if she had on eye shadow or if it was just the natural shadow of her sunken-in eyes that looked dark purple.

“C’mere dear, let me take a look at you,” she said, a sigh on the stale air. Arthur approached, and she gently patted the other side of the bed. The room was as big as the sitting room, and there was just enough space for him to walk around and sit opposite Eames, at the woman’s side. “Oh, but you’re handsome! Look at those dimples, it’s no wonder my son’s fond of you.”

“Mum, don’t embarrass me,” Eames whined petulantly, and Arthur could only blush in response.

The woman gave a sour look at her son and settled back into her pillow. Her hair was thin and lank, a honey-wheat that was as dull and lifeless as the woman herself. She’d obviously brushed it recently, and Arthur felt sad but flattered.

“I can see where he gets his charm,” Arthur flirted. She giggled tiredly. He wondered how old she really was. The sickness had added years to her, but absent were the leathery wrinkles and sun spots belonging to the naturally elderly. She couldn’t have been more than 50.

She inquired about the trip over, asked if it was exciting to leave the country alone at such a young age, and then apologized for not being able to properly play host for Arthur’s stay. “My body doesn’t like to take in iron,” she said. “So it makes it hard to make tea most days.”

From Eames, Arthur had heard plenty more about the sickness plaguing his mother. It wasn’t just a lack of nutrients, but an irreparably damaged immune system that would most likely cause her death the next time she caught a summer cold. Medications would keep her stable, but not for forever. Arthur admired her will in keeping up a confident, humble front.

“It’s alright. I’ll just have to make Eames do everything for me.”

Eames gave a wry grin as his mother chuckled. “He isn’t joking, I’m sure. Are you hungry, Mum? I figure some supper’s in order after Arthur’s long flight.”

Arthur stood and waited for Eames, who bent and kissed his mother’s head before turning and ushering Arthur out the door. There was an unease in the air, with Arthur’s lips clamped shut to refrain from saying anything dumb like, _How long does she have to live?_ or _She looks like a skeleton_. Eames surely felt the awkwardness in the room, a gigantic pink elephant squeezed between them like a physical weight on their shoulders. Neither of them said anything though, and Arthur was relieved when Eames began to rifle through the cupboards in the tiny kitchenette like everything was alright.

“D’you want to help with lunch? I’d love a hand,” said the older man, and Arthur began to push up his sleeves.

“Sure.”

It was a small space to work in, and the closeness of his boyfriend made it hard for Arthur not to reach out and touch the man as often as possible. His hands reached out for Eames’ arm, Eames’ hip, Eames’ broad shoulders and everything in between. No pushing or shoving or tickling or teasing, only the reassuring contact of skin on skin to remind Arthur that he was with Eames now and for tomorrow, and tomorrow after that.

With the leftover ingredients put away and Eames’ hands washed warm and clean, they were free to embrace. Over the quiet whirr of the overhead fan, the smacking of kisses could be heard. Lips on lips, and hands sliding over hips, with moans drowned into sighs swallowed eagerly down.

The sizzle of frying food tore their mouths apart, drawing them back to reality and Arthur dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, letting Eames’ pull him to his side.

“I missed you,” Arthur said, tucked into Eames’ side. His arms wound loosely around the man’s waist as he watched Eames stir rice and veggies around in a small frying pan on the stove in front of them.

“I missed you too, darling.”

-+-

They stayed in that evening, enjoying each other’s company while Arthur perused the pictures on the mantle and cooed at the images of an impossibly young Eames in his mother’s arms; at the pool with a floaty jacket on and a mop of blonde curls in his eyes; with a graduation cap and gown on, and a severe looking man with a tight smile flanking Eames’ side along with a healthy, young version of the woman confined to her bed in the other room. It was all very interesting to Arthur, who didn’t knew embarrassingly little about his lover other than the fact that he’d had a drug problem and liked to collect trashy tattoos on his skin. Here was the other side of Eames: the boy, rather than the man. Innocence before it was inevitably lost, before it was corrupted by adulthood and responsibilities and an addiction to hard drugs.

Arthur wanted to learn more about this Eames, about the young man he never knew.

He looked back at Eames now, his Eames, the one he’d claimed for his own. Broad, muscled shoulders stretching the fabric of a sweater thin, and a chest twice as wide as Arthur’s. Thick all over, and in all the right places, but really just a big teddy bear that easily laughed and easily loved.

The door to Eames’ mother’s room was closed. She was napping. The apartment smelled like curry and sickness, like stale bread. Arthur stepped away from the entertainment center and crossed the five or so feet to the futon, still folded, where Eames sat mindlessly watching some show about the dynamics of Brazilian tribal villages. One of Arthur’s knees pressed onto the cushions, and the other followed, boxing in Eames’ knees as the boy straddled his lap and snaked two long arms around the back of his big neck.

Eames looked up. His face was deadpan, a leftover side effect of his bored disinterest in the television show. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to ask what Arthur wanted. What he wanted as Eames, it was clear from the heated gaze Arthur fixed the man with.

“Fuck me,” Arthur commanded, voice quiet but even.

There were certain expectations when demanding such a thing, and Arthur waited for a glance behind him at the door, maybe a harsh scolding for being so brazen, or an outright laugh in his face maybe. Instead, Eames seriously intoned, “I suppose you brought condoms then? And jelly, I hope.”

In answer, Arthur stretched across the arm of the couch and dug into his duffle bag. After a moment’s rooting, he retrieved a tube of lubricant and a foil square. He was the cat who’d caught the canary, displaying it proudly through a cage of fangs.

And there it was, the knowing smile from Eames that Arthur had been waiting for. It came with hooded eyes and a hand at the back of Arthur’s neck, drawing him in for a deep kiss that had Arthur melting into a heated puddle against the older man’s chest.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting all night. Don’t make me wait longer.”

Eames growled, swiping his tongue across the roof of Arthur’s mouth a last time before they parted, both of them now flushed and thrumming with excitement. Arthur stood and brazenly shoved his jeans to his ankles along with his underwear, falling quickly back onto Eames’ lap when the man’s pants were pushed down enough for comfortable access. In this position, Arthur would be doing all the work, and that was just fine with him.

With Arthur’s knees spread wide and his balls held out of the way in one hand, he grabbed at the back of the couch and shuddered as he was fingered open with the tenderness of virginal naivety. “No,” he whined close to Eames’ ear, “It’s been in my ass before, I’m not afraid of a couple fingers.”

One turned into two then, but Eames continued to be gentle despite his young lover’s eagerness.

“Let me enjoy myself, will you?” Eames growled. “I’ve missed this arse.”

“Then put your dick in it already.”

Sourly, Eames pulled his fingers out and tore open the condom wrapper. Arthur gave the man a few teasing tugs, wanting to have that familiar weight in his hand again after so long. He’d felt it in the cab earlier, just a brush over his hand to tease, but it hadn’t been enough. Later, after the futon was rolled out and they were laid down for bed, Arthur would take his time, but right now wasn’t the moment to play—right now Arthur wanted his ass filled. He wanted to be split open in the sweetest way, stretched until it hurt, until he’d feel it tomorrow.

It hurt right away, of course. Arthur had been impatient and horny, and now it burned as he forced himself to relax and accept the fat head of Eames’ dick into his ass. His face must have given him away, because Eames began to gently caress his sides, broad hands dragging slowly up Arthur’s hips to his flanks, and back down to skim over his thighs in a circuit. The touch helped take his concentration off that painful place where their bodies met, helped to soothe Arthur’s tension if only a little.

“That’s it,” Eames purred against Arthur’s neck. “That’s a good boy.”

For a moment, Arthur just sat with no more than the head in him, his arms coiled tightly around Eames’ neck and his tongue in the man’s mouth. They kissed, and Eames touched, and Arthur began to relax enough that it didn’t feel like he was going to die from the sheer size of what was in him.

“You’re too big,” Arthur pouted.

Eames laughed against the collar of Arthur’s shirt, breathless and shaking his head. “I thought you liked that about me?”

Arthur shook his head. He was slowly sinking down, working his way to getting the entire thing in him. Quietly, he confessed, “I haven’t used any toys lately, I haven’t even used my fingers. I thought I’d… You know. Save myself?”

A deep rumble came from Eames’ chest, and his fingers dragged angry red lines down Arthur’s sides, wringing a shuddering whimper from the young boy.

“Asshole!” hissed Arthur, his back arching and Eames’ dick slipping almost completely out of him. He reached down in time to keep in it, and while he rolled his hips down in increments to swallow Eames’ length down again, Eames pushed Arthur’s shirt up and attached his mouth to one peaked nipple. If it wasn’t for the fact that they needed so desperately to be quiet, Arthur would have howled.

Eames’ hands began to knead at Arthur’s rump, spreading the boy’s cheeks apart and squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers, making Arthur bow and mewl. Finally, Arthur was opening up, gasping against Eames’ ear with small, aborted whines of “ _yes!”_ , “ _yeah!”_ , “ _oh!”_ , “ _mmm_!”

They’d done this position a few times before, usually with Arthur complaining about how he couldn’t go fast enough, hard enough, how he needed Eames to fuck him faster and harder. Usually Eames would give in and flip them over, mount his boy and give him a proper ride. This time, they stayed as they were, with Arthur bouncing unsteadily in Eames’ lap. There were no complaints, because they’d both been without each other so long that this felt perfect as it was in its messy haste.

Back at home, they’d had much better sex than this, times when Arthur could be as loud as he wanted, could get fucked in any position he wanted, and they could enjoy themselves and each other with the wild abandon that comes naturally in an affair such as theirs. But here, with Eames swallowing Arthur’s gasps and moans, nothing had ever been better. His skin felt like it was on fire, his ass burned with the sweet stretch of Eames’ dick in him, and Arthur felt close to tears with the overwhelming sensation of being in Eames’ arms, of being filled and embraced and kissed with this passion he’d spent years dreaming about.

Teetering on the edge as he was, only needing the slightest stimulation on his cock, it wasn’t a wonder when he spilled over after just two or three strokes from his own hand.

“I love you,” he gasped into Eames’ mouth, “I love you. _Fuck_ , so much.”

Arthur held tightly onto Eames like a lifeline, trembling as the older man fucked up into him, following Arthur’s orgasm by only half a minute’s time.

Eventually, the sound of the TV came back to them, along with the rest of reality. Eames’ length waned, slipped out of Arthur, and they shifted onto their sides to better relax. They kissed, and Eames’ fingers went to Arthur’s hole, two slipping back in with ease. Arthur whimpered, hands grabbing at Eames’ sweater and back arching off the cushions. The sensitive spot just inside of his ass was prodded, pushed, pressed until Arthur smacked Eames’ hand away with a desperate cry of “ _TOO MUCH!_ ”

Eames laughed and kissed him, shushing the boy with his tongue and pulling his fingers out. “Next time I’ll make you cum just like that. With my fingers in your arse.”

Arthur liked the idea, but pouted anyway. “Why are you so mean to me?” he asked.

“Because you like it,” Eames reasoned.

It wasn’t a lie.

-+-

Saturday was spent in the city. It was crowded and chilly, much more so than Gladwyne on a weekend. Eames had dressed nicely and told Arthur to do the same. They took a taxi into the city and first went to Harrods, where Arthur had Eames take pictures of him with Dodri and Diana before venturing into the crowds to gawk at some of the most high priced items either of them had ever seen. Vivienne had given Arthur some spending money, but nothing enough to buy even the clearance items on the clothes racks, though Arthur was happy just being there. It was the biggest department store he’d ever stepped foot in, and by the time they left, evening had begun to comfortably set in.

They bought dinner at 6 and at 7:30 found a quaint little ice cream shop where Arthur tried at least a dozen flavors before finding one that suited his taste. Eames was patient, and Arthur rewarded him with ice cold kisses as he tucked into the man’s side and lapped up his Fried Apple Pie flavored gelato.

At 8, they were back in Bromley. A theatre was lit up in town, and they stopped off to find that despite the cold, there were people filing into the double doors scantily clad in provocative outfits ranging from obvious lingerie to satin tuxedos. Corsets and fishnets and trashy makeup on almost all of them, with feather boas and high heels on both men and women. It was an evening showing of Rocky Horror, and as Arthur turned to Eames to ask if maybe they could still catch the show, Eames held up two tickets.

“YOU _DIDN’T_!” Arthur gasped.

“I did.” Eames grinned.

They sat in the middle with a perfect view, and Arthur was not surprised in the least to find out that Eames knew the words to every song they sang. The women playing Columbia and Magenta stood beside the stage and squirted everyone with water guns on cue, and when cigarettes were pulled out, Arthur and Eames put their heads together and lit up as one. The actors were terrible, the costumes half-assed, and the songs were painfully out of key, but the enthusiasm was booming and Arthur hadn’t had half as much fun in his life.

After the show, they walked the street slowly, waiting for a cab to pass but by no means in a hurry. Arthur snuggled up under Eames’ arm as he was wont to do and tugged him to the side, in the shadow of a building against the cold and clinging brick. Eames boxed his boy in, framing him in an outline that said You Are Mine, You Cannot Escape.

He stood on his tiptoes to slide his tongue into the older man’s mouth and writhe against him, grinding the erection he’d been sporting since _Creature of the Night_ into Eames’ thigh. “Take me somewhere,” he mewled.

Eames slid a knee between Arthur’s thighs. “I’ve been doing that all day,” he said.

“No. Take me somewhere and fuck me.”

In answer, Eames laughed and pulled the boy in closer, hand low on a small hip. “Oh, pet. How will I ever keep up with you?”

Arthur gave Eames a sultry half-smile, dumb with needy lust. “You don’t have to. I’ll do all the work.”

“Alright, alright, break it up!” came a gruff voice nearby, causing Arthur to jump and immediately hide his face in Eames’ jacket.

This was it, they’d been caught, and he had a boner the size of Texas-- he’d never live this down! It was a police officer, looking very unimpressed as he scrutinized the two of them. The officer pulled out a flashlight and shined it in Arthur’s face.

“Hey, how old is he? How old are you, lad?”

Shamefaced, Arthur dislodged himself from Eames’ side to reply, “Fifteen, sir.”

With a sour look, the officer glanced from Eames back to Arthur. “American, then? Who is this, is he bothering you?”

Arthur shook his head, fumbling with his jacket and shifting on his feet in an effort to hide his erection. “No, sir. We were just waiting for a cab. I’m on vacation for the week and staying with him.”

Apparently sensing how nervous Arthur was, Eames put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him close.

The officer looked up and down the street and gave a noncommittal grunt. “Well go on home then. We don’t allow buggering on the street here, boys. Do it at home like everyone else.”

“Cheers,” Eames said, and steered Arthur out of the building’s shadow and back onto the street.

Still embarrassed and feeling awkward, Arthur glanced up at Eames. He couldn’t read the man’s expression. “Sorry,” he said, either way.

Eames looked at him. “The legal age over here is fifteen, you don’t have to be sorry, darling.”

Arthur laughed nervously. “Then, I guess for getting us into trouble at all. You know, jumping you like that.”

The hand on Arthur’s shoulder went to the boy’s neck and squeezed gently. Eames kissed the top of Arthur’s head. “That wasn’t _trouble_ , Arthur. And don’t ever apologize for your sexual appetite. I fear the day you stop wanting to _jump_ me-- God knows I’ll feel old and unwanted.”

Breaking into a grin, Arthur kissed Eames’ jaw. “You might be old but never unwanted.”

A cab pulled around the corner and Eames flagged it down. He held the door open for Arthur and they slid in, Eames’ hand going to Arthur’s thigh, just above the knee. Eames didn’t say anything, but the curve of his mouth was answer enough.

-+-

Arthur had never been around anyone who'd needed taken care of. He had no siblings, no grandparents, nor friends who had an invalid living with them. He'd never considered how lucky he was until that Spring Break, where Eames kept slipping out of Arthur's arms to go to his mother's side whenever she'd have a coughing fit or needed a shower.

The darkest part of him felt selfish, like this was supposed to be his week with Eames and no one else's, but those thoughts were easily tucked away whenever Mrs. Eames would call Arthur closer to get to know him better. At one point she'd pulled an ancient looking photo album from one of her drawers, the task having drawn a sweat on her skinny frame though she didn't lose her smile. She showed him page after page of photograph depicting Eames, from anywhere between birth and late teens.

There was an tiny, naked Eames with a cowboy hat and cowboy boots on; A prepubescent Eames with a terrible haircut and bandaid on his chin; An Eames in snow boots twisting a carrot into the lopsided face of a snowman; Pages back, there was a photo of an unnaturally thin Eames, one resembling his mother in her current state now. Arthur knew from stories passed that this Eames wasn't sick or invalid, this was Eames gaunt from heavy drug addiction.

When he looked up, Eames was turned away. Whether it was on purpose or not, Arthur didn't know, but even the older man's profile looked healthier and more handsome than any of the pictures in the album. It made Arthur proud to know Eames now, and not then, no matter how much it made him ache to know he knew so little about him.

A secondhand shame arose in Arthur every time Eames shut the door behind him to undress his own mother and help her into the tub. Maybe because he was American and they were taught to be ashamed of their bodies, to sexualize nudity in even its most innocent of forms. Or maybe it was because Arthur was young and out of place, just a visitor in a home that wasn’t normally open to one. Though he could help with the dishes, wash the clothes, pick up after himself with no problem, he couldn’t bring himself to offer his help with Mrs. Eames’ plight. The idea of feeding her felt wrong, awkward, uncomfortable, and helping her dress was so far removed from a thing he wanted to do that he only smiled and looked away when Eames stood to do just those things.

There was a walker for her use when they went out, but Arthur still felt terrible dragging the woman’s son away each day. There was a call button for her to use in case of an emergency, and plenty of food that didn’t need to be refrigerated and so could be left out for her, yet every time Arthur and Eames finished off their evening with an expensive three course meal in the city, the teen couldn’t help but think if Mrs. Eames was at home resenting him whenever she had to drag herself to the bathroom alone.

They’d order a meal to go and that would be that. Spring Break’s end loomed fast on his horizon so the guilt gnawing at his gut could be excused away with the knowledge that Eames’ mother would have him back to herself in only a few day’s time. For now, he’d enjoy pressing in close to Eames in the dark backseat of a cab, stealing kisses and teasing with touches.

-+-

It was Friday. Eames had gotten a nurse to come over and spend time with his mother while he and Arthur went into the city. They made one last trip to Harrods, where Arthur bought himself a scarf that’d have Robert whining in jealousy-- a scarf that cost more than the plane ticket over, which had Eames wrinkling his nose and grumbling about how high maintenance his little boyfriend was before they left to find gifts for Arthur’s mother and two best friends back home.

For Ariadne, a set of chess carved by hand in a trinket shop by a man with a trader’s mustache. It was a throwback to a month ago when a storm came through and knocked out the power for their entire block, and they were forced to go without internet for a whole two days in which they broke out an old chess board with half the pieces missing and made do. Arthur had beaten her once, but she’d whipped his ass each time after, and he knew she’d enjoy this gift as a reference to the friendship they still clung tight to when they needed it most.

Robert wasn’t as easy. It was all but impossible to buy a gift for someone who could have it all no matter the occasion. If he wanted, Robert could probably buy a hundred of Arthur’s scarves, five in each shade offered, and still wipe his ass with a wad of bills afterward. Being rich was so very hard for young boys like them. Arthur ended up buying him a pair of trashy boots he’d probably laugh at: the top dusted with a fine powdered glitter, and the tongue covered in spiked studs. They were sold to him by a man who looked strangely like Sid Vicious, who gave him a flirtatious once-over despite Eames’ arm at the small of his back. Arthur grinned and let himself be dragged out of the store.

When it came time for his mother’s gift, Arthur seemed to struggle. “You don’t think just having me back would be gift enough?” he asked with an air of self-importance that made Eames chuckle. Arthur eyed a rack of dresses that were so short and slinky that he hated to imagine his mother in them (even though her entire closet was full of ones just like them).

“She’s a woman, Arthur. Buy her something a woman would like.”

To that, there were a few different responses Arthur had. Biggest and most of all was the thought that he was a 15-year-old fruit, and so knew not a thing about what a _woman_ would like. Every year for Christmas he’d get her a card and a gift booklet to a spa, and for her birthday they just went out to eat and saw a movie together. But a gift from out of the country?

Arthur looked at Eames, who was busy studying his own cuticles. “What would _you_ get her?” he asked.

Looking up from his nails, Eames arched a brow and quirked his mouth to the side in a challenging smirk. “I’d get her a son who knew what to get her as a gift.”

Blushing indignantly, Arthur turned turned away with a resounding “hmph!” and moved to the jewelry table to peruse the bangles. A warmth was pressed to Arthur’s back after a moment, and the scarf around his neck was teased tight, Eames’ fingers tugging it until Arthur’s head was forced to arch back.

“Whatever you get her, she’ll love, Arthur. Because it was from _you_.”

The words were meant to relax Arthur, to reassure him. But above anything else, what he couldn’t get around was how good it felt having Eames against his back, having the scarf pulled taught to restrict his flow of air just that little tiny bit. He wanted to go home then, to Eames’ apartment, to have his legs spread apart and his ass fucked til he sobbed.

“I know that look,” said Eames, and already his voice had gone dark. They were in the middle of a crowded store, muzak playing over the loudspeakers, but the only that existed was the both of them. “You want to get out of here?”

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With Vivienne’s gift all but forgotten, the two made their way outside and onto the street. At a crosswalk they waited for the light in a crowd of people, their bodies melded together at their sides from the sole of their shoes to tips of their noses, which pressed into each other’s cheeks as they kissed like brazen young lovers, uncaring about stares or dirty looks so long as they had one another.

The light changed. Arthur kept his arm looped through Eames’ as they walked across the thickly painted lines on the asphalt.

“Eames? Charles Eames?”

The both of them turned to see a tall, brunette man with glasses and a peacoat smiling at Eames with blatant familiarity.

“Benny!”

Strangers filed between them, trying to make it across the walkway while the man who’d called Eames’ name moved in close, gave a good-natured punch to Eames’ arm, and smiled at Arthur curiously. The man wasn’t unattractive, but looked a little nerdy for Eames’ taste so the hackles that’d automatically raised on the back of Arthur’s neck lowered themselves casually. “Who’s this?” the teen asked.

Eames seemed a little shy all of a sudden. “This is Benny. He was my sponsor back when I needed one, and a friend now. Here, let’s get out of the way.”

The three of them moved back to the curb, and Eames continued. “Benny, this is Arthur. He’s visiting for Spring Break from back in Gladwyne.”

The man, Benny, raised his eyebrows. “This is Arthur?” he said, and though the boy wanted to puff up proudly at this, but his cheeks colored instead. Benny proffered his hand, and Arthur took it, slipping his arm out of the crook of Eames’ elbow to do so. “Lovely to finally meet you. Eames tells me you’re a smart boy, aiming for Penn State. You’re good at architecture, he’s told me.”

Blushing self-consciously, Arthur ducked his head and smiled. Just imagining Eames doting on him made his heart swell with affection for his lover. “Yeah, well. Everybody’s gotta have a talent, right?”

Benny smirked. “An American who’s humble-- you’ve found the needle in a haystack, Charles.”

Arthur balked at that, but the older men laughed, and he couldn’t help a chuckle of his own.

They chatted for a moment about how Arthur liked London, and whether he thought he’d like to come back. They talked about the weather, and about the health of Eames’ mother, and in the span of not five minutes they managed to skirt the Elephant in the room fairly well. That is until Eames’ cellphone rang and he stepped away.

“So,” Benny started. Arthur tensed. “You two are together, then?”

Arthur nodded.

“Mm. Well I’m not going to bore you with my opinion on the matter, but I will say that I’d appreciate you not breaking the man’s heart.”

If Arthur’s feathers weren’t ruffled, they surely were now. He tried to be polite, but the edge to his words was evident. “Who says it’s _his_ heart that needs worried about?”

The conversation Eames was having over the phone got heated. They looked over as Eames started barking over the line about something, his free hand waving animatedly before burying itself in the thicket of his hair.

Benny hummed, pulling the collar of his jacket higher and looking towards the street. “I should get on, I’ve got an appointment to make. It was good to meet you, Arthur.”

Before Benny could leave, Eames returned to their side. “Bloody fucking-- Fucking bollocks, we need to go, Arthur. Benny, I’ll ring you later, a’right?”

“What happened?” Arthur asked, hot on Eames’ heels as he stepped into the street to flag down a taxi.

Eames didn’t look at him. “It’s Lynn. Her water broke and she’s checking into the hospital.”

-+-

There was little talking when they got back to the apartment. Arthur called his mother to say he was going to be leaving early, and Eames called his brother and sister in law to inform them that he’d need his room back for awhile. But between Arthur and Eames, little conversation happened.

They hadn’t really discussed the gameplan for this moment, if only because Arthur didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about going home with Eames only to have the man leave, spend time with some fake girlfriend and her kid that may or may not be sporting some of Eames’ genes. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that it _was_ Eames’ child. Arthur didn’t want to be 15 and getting involved with “Baby Daddy Drama”.

He didn’t want to leave London, he didn’t want to go back to being some high school kid having an illegal relationship with a man twice his age. He didn’t want to leave Eames’ mother here, and he sure as hell didn’t want to acknowledge the hint of tears in her tired eyes as she said goodbye to her only son and gave Arthur a hug as well. Arthur felt like he was trudging through mud as he gathered his bags and shoved everything in his backpack. When he swept the apartment for things he might have forgotten, it was in a haze of reluctance that kept him from really seeing a damned thing.

Arthur had only been in Bromley a week but he wanted it to be _**home** _.

On their way to the airport, Arthur found himself staring outside the window blankly. He felt a weight in his hand and, when it didn’t leave, turned to see that Eames had laced their fingers together. It said more to Arthur than a thousand words could ever have.

-+-

They didn’t have to wait long for their flight, though it took Arthur a moment to find his passport, much to the annoyance of a line of strangers behind him. There was a layover in New York of about 5 hours where Arthur thought it’d be a fun idea to see a movie in a nearby theater — only to get a text 15 minutes in saying that the flight was early and they needed to leave as soon as possible.

Thinking that this might be their last time on a flight together for quite some time, Arthur waited until they were in the air before leaning into Eames and whispering against his ear, “So are you going to welcome me into the Mile High Club or do I have to beg?”

Eames looked at him dubiously. “You realize those bathrooms can barely fit one person in them, let alone two?”

This was a fight Arthur knew he could win. “I’m tiny. Come on, we can do it.”

Arthur left first, hurrying down the aisle with a condom and a sticky bottle of lube shoved in his pocket in a blatantly obvious way. He left the door cracked, the contents of his pockets quickly spilled out onto the miniscule counter top. When Eames passed, he casually slipped inside, and already they were crushed together almost comically.

“I can’t move,” said Eames.

Shimmying his jeans down his hips, Arthur tried not to snicker too loudly. “Hold on,” he said, and squeezed towards the far wall, directing Eames back against the toilet. He looked over his shoulder and handed Eames the condom. “Like this. It doesn’t have to be good, just as long as you cum.”

The look Eames gave him was of pure disbelief. The man shook his head but unzipped anyway, stroking himself a few times to get hard enough to slip into the condom. “You are the biggest slag, d’you know that?”

Arthur reached back with one hand and let one slicked finger sink into his hole. “If thinking your dick is the greatest thing ever makes me a slut, I’ll gladly take the title. Now shut up and fuck me.”

One of Arthur’s fingers was joined by two of Eames’, and already the boy was gasping against the cold plastic wall. By the time Arthur was good and open, Eames was hard and eager in response. It was uncomfortable as hell, but made completely worth it when Arthur turned his head the other way and discovered that their coupling was reflected in the mirror. They’d never done it like this, with a view of themselves, and Arthur was entranced.

He watched as Eames bit his lip between his teeth, hair bouncing out of place with each thrust and eyes glued to the spot where his hips met Arthur’s ass. Eames might joke about Arthur’s salacious attitude, about how needy Arthur gets for affection, about how eager the teen is to take a dick. But there was no mistaking what they had together, no mistaking the look on Eames’ face in the mirror-- the absolute worship there, as their bodies clashed together like waves on a sea.

“Come on,” whined Arthur, standing on the tips of his toes with one arm braced on the wall and one hand holding himself open. “Harder.”

Eames draped himself over Arthur’s back then, burying his nose in the dark brown curls at the boy’s neck. “Quiet, you. D’you want to get us caught?”

Arthur bit back a howl as Eames took his cock in hand finally. He tried to speak, but the way Eames was squeezing him, thrusting into him, kissing his shoulder, it made coherent though a challenge. “Maybe- I do. Maybe I- I want everyone- mmm. Want them to see- how much you love- fffuuuuuck. Fucking me, Daddy.”

A purr resounded deep Eames’ throat, a rumbling in his chest that Arthur could feel in his back, resonating in his bones.

“You like that?” Arthur asked breathlessly, head fuzzy with impending orgasm.

“When we get home, I’m going to fill you up proper. You’ll be dripping with it.”

The thought of Eames actually releasing inside of him, of Eames cumming in his ass and the load being so big that it just drips out of him-- oh, it had Arthur’s head spinning. “Yes, yes, yes,” he whined, and Eames hand tugged at him in such a way that had Arthur’s mouth agape as he spilled over, spurting onto the wall in front of him and dribbling down the big hand squeezing at his dick.

Behind him, Eames kept thrusting. Arthur’s legs buckled and Eames had to hold him up straight, both hands on Arthur’s hips as he filled the condom that still separated them.

Eventually, their bodies split. Eames slipped out and tore the condom away, squeezing in next to Arthur to toss the rubber into the trash and wipe off. Arthur watched as he basked in the afterglow, a satisfied hum in his throat as Eames kissed his head and swiped up the rivulets of juices and lubricant from Arthur’s ass with a napkin.

This was usually Arthur’s favorite part, the come-down. But there was no room to get comfortable, and if they stayed in there much longer they’d probably get caught. So he worked his jeans back up gave Eames a last kiss before exiting the bathroom with stiffness in his gait that wasn’t there before.

-+-

The 5-minute warning came over the intercom and Arthur figured then was as good a time as any to bring up what he'd been brooding about for hours.

"So, are you going to get a paternity test?" he asked, fingers tapping the armrest as he slipped on his best neutral mask.

Eames looked at Arthur, and his expression was unreadable. It could have been annoyance or anger or confusion, or any mix of those three. His brow pinched and his mouth twisted into a smile that didn't feel very humorous. "A bit nosey, aren't you? What business is it of yours?"

Heat flared in Arthur's chest. If they hadn't just fucked not an hour ago in the bathroom he would have probably snapped. Instead, he gave an airy laugh and kept his voice even. "We're boyfriends. I think it's at least a little bit my business."

In the momentary silence that followed, Arthur felt an annoyance of his own begin to swell in the back of his head, a buzzing that almost outshone the nervous cramp in his stomach. Eames didn't reply for a moment, and Arthur made a mental note to appreciate that the man was at least considering his answer instead of biting out whatever retort first came to mind. This was a serious discussion, and Arthur wanted it to be treated as such.

"I'm 30 years old, Arthur. Asking for a paternity test on the grounds that my 15 year old boyfriend is jealous would not be a smart move on my part."

Arthur took it back. Fuck serious discussion, and fuck Eames for playing that card. "Do you think fucking some girl without a condom that you didn't even know was a smart move?"

Eames' eyes narrowed dangerously, but the wry smile stayed on his face as he whispered, "What I do and who I do it with is my choice. We weren't together when I had sex with Lynn. And for your information, I always wear a condom. If you had any idea at all about how sex works in the real world, you'd know that condoms break. You'd know that accidents happen. I don't appreciate your attitude Arthur, and I don't appreciate your complete disregard for my position in this situation. Yes, I am going to get a paternity test. And that's the end of this conversation, because I am handling the situation with Lynn and I don't need your advice _or_ your help. Is that clear?"

Although Arthur didn’t want this to be the end of the conversation, he also didn’t want to cause a scene. He let his mouth sit in a hard line, eyes forward, shoulders stiff. That was answer enough, and Eames finally turned back to his window and watched as the city grew larger the nearer they got to the airport. It killed Arthur that he couldn’t tell anybody about his relationship with Eames. Sometimes, he just really needed a second point of view.

At the baggage pickup, Arthur felt a hand on top of his head, long nails scratching gently through his hair before leaving.

“How was your trip, Arthur?” asked Vivienne, hair curled and lips shining pink. She was wearing sunglasses but Arthur could see her attention move to Eames. “Nice to see you back in the States, Eames.”

Arthur felt a little blindsided. “I didn’t know you were coming to pick me up,” he said, snagging his bag from the conveyor belt. The frown on his face was telling, he was sure, but he couldn’t shake it.

“I told her to pick you up,” Eames filled in. He didn’t look at Arthur. “I need to go to the hospital straight away, and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

They were still at odds over the Lynn situation, but Arthur had hoped anyway that he’d at least get to ride back with Eames. He felt a little betrayed at being treated like a child.

“Oh,” said Arthur. He looked at Eames, or rather at the man’s profile, and tried to think of something to say. _Bye_ ? _Have fun_ ? _Thanks_ ? _You’re a jackass_ ? _I hate you_ ? _I love you_?

His mother made up for his silence. “We’ll see you later, Eames. Thanks again for taking care of Arthur for me. Tell us when they baby’s born and we’ll come meet her!”

Really, Arthur didn’t know what to feel. He shouldered his bag and followed his mother, having retreated so far back into his head that the only responses he could muster to her questions was “Yeah” and “M-hmm.” A part of him hated Eames. A part of him hated his mother for taking him away from Eames earlier than he’d wanted. And a part of him hated himself for fucking things up. _Again_.

-+-

Robert came over that evening. Vivienne had wanted to go see the baby, but Arthur had claimed jetlag was making him feel sick, and stayed home to brood in his bed and watch some mindless television shows. When Fischer texted, Arthur offered for the boy to come hang out, and they spent most of the night in Arthur’s bedroom playing games and talking about London. Robert loved his gift, and wore them the whole night even though Arthur called him an animal for wearing shoes in the house no matter how clean they were.

Sunday, Arthur had homework to catch up on. He’d woken up to a voicemail from Eames saying that he’d be at the hospital probably until Monday evening, and that he loved Arthur even if he is a little shit sometimes. Arthur had texted back, “Love you too. Swamped with homework :( See you Monday” and that’d been it.

Ariadne showed up and they did their last minute homework together, munching on cookies Mrs. Penrose had made and watching old reruns of Golden Girls. Eventually, Arthur remembered that he’d gotten Ari a gift as well and as soon as he pulled the chess set out, she laughed and demanded that they play a game together, with the loser having to type up the winner’s Work Cited page. It wasn’t a surprise when Arthur lost, but the game was fun in itself.

School dragged on Monday. Nobody wanted to be back. Everyone was sporting fresh tan lines and new clothes, and everyone was complaining about how cold it is and _When will Winter fucking end!?_ At least it was something to distract Arthur, who couldn’t stop thinking about Eames. The man was off being a Father, a real one, and didn’t have time for Arthur. Didn’t Eames realize that Arthur was supposed to be getting 110% of his attention?

At lunch, Ariadne was stuck in the art room finishing up the matting on her photographs for the art show, so Fischer and Arthur ate by themselves on a bench in the commons. Embarrassingly enough, Arthur was called out on his especially mopey behavior.

“You had a really good Spring Break, didn’t you? You look like shit,” chided Robert, one of his perfect eyebrows arched critically. He dipped his folded slice of pizza in half and stopped it right at his mouth. “Is it boy troubles? Please tell me it isn’t boy troubles. Because then I’ll have to make you tell me all about it.”

Arthur colored lightly, and didn’t look at Robert. “No, it’s-”

“Oh Christ, it is, isn’t it! You went to that guy’s house all the way in fucking London, you spent half the time sucking his dick and the other half being carted around to all the best shops-- I mean, Vera Wang? I haven’t been to Vera’s boutique in fucking forever. You had a blast, you told me yourself! He didn’t break up with you, did he? Am I going to have to get my bodyguard to break this guy’s legs?”

“Robert, you don’t have a bodyguard, don’t be an asshole.”

Robert smirked. “I do too. Remember that guy I told you about the other night? Spanish, tattoos, mohawk? The one whose dick was too big for my fingers to go all the way around?”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur shook his head. “You got a bodyguard. And you’re fucking him. Why am I not surprised.”

“I’m not fucking him,” corrected Robert. “I just like to suck his dick. I think he gets off on the power play, you know. Because my dad’s a dickhead, he probably thinks it’s a big fuck-you to be shooting a load on the boss’s son’s face.”

“Too much information!” Arthur cried, elbowing Robert in the arm. “God, you are the biggest slut.”

Robert grinned. “Where’s the lie?”

Lunch ended with Arthur successfully avoiding talking about Eames, and even feeling a little better overall. Arthur made plans with Robert and Ari to go see a movie on Wednesday night, and he was dropped off at home where his mother was in the kitchen with the stereo blasting Taylor Swift’s new album while she chopped vegetables.

“How was your day, baby?” she called over the music, and took a sip from her nearby glass of wine.

Arthur hung by the door a moment. He wondered vaguely how his mother stayed so put together while her husband was off doing god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.  “Good. What’s for dinner?”

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Thought I’d do this new Cajun Chicken recipe I found earlier on Pinterest. If it ends up sucking, we can order Chinese.”

“Sounds good,” the teen said, and slunk off up the stairs to his bedroom.

Dinner time rolled around, and Arthur was so engrossed in the newest episode of his favorite show that he didn’t hear the knock at the door downstairs. He sat cross-legged on the bed with a box of lo mein in one hand, brow furrowed and mouth set in a deep frown. They were just about to reveal who the murderer was when his door opened and Eames stepped inside.

Arthur glanced at him and gave a strained smile. “Hey, hold on. They’re just about to tell us who killed Sam.”

“You didn’t come see the baby,” Eames said quietly. Arthur didn’t respond.

Eames tossed a folded piece of paper at him. Arthur looked at it, looked at the screen, and put his lo mein down to slowly unfold the paper. The paper was a photocopy of some legal document, with three columns and a bunch of numbers and letters in each column. With his attention still heavily divided, he asked, “What’s this?”

“Read it,” offered Eames, and whether it was humor or annoyance in his voice, Arthur didn’t know. He scowled and tore his eyes from the screen once more to scan the text at the bottom. There was Eames’ name, and Lynn’s name, and another name he didn’t know, and then, at the very end, _The possibility of paternity is 0%_.

Arthur stared, read it again, and then looked at Eames. Cautiously, he asked, “So this means… It’s not yours?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Eames shrugged. He looked very tired. “‘It’’s a _she_. And no, it seems she’s not mine.”

Biting at the inside of his lip, Arthur continued. “Did you _want_ it to be yours?” He didn’t want to give the child a gender, or acknowledge anything about the baby. Maybe he was selfish for that, but it’s not like him being selfish was anything new, not to himself or to Eames.

Letting out a long breath, Eames stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “For a moment there, I’d prepared myself to be a father. I’m _at that age_ , you know. But it was only for a moment. I think I’ve already got my hands full with _you_. And quite frankly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Scratching the back of his neck a little bashfully, Eames added, “You’re back to being my only child now, it looks like.”

On TV, the last piece of the puzzle was being revealed and the plot of the season was finally coming together. Arthur didn’t care. His lo mein tipped over as he stood suddenly on the bed and sprung at Eames, who swept his boy into his arms with a great “ _Oof!_ ”.

Arthur buried his face in Eames’ neck and he breathed deeply of the man’s scent. He smelled like he’d slept in his clothes. He smelled like sweat and two day old sex, and stale cologne. “You need a shower.”

Eames chuckled. “And you need some manners.”

They kissed, and for the first time in a long time, Arthur felt like everything would be alright.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes first and foremost to [Quinn](http://hollaquinn.tumblr.com/), because this chapter wouldn't have been written without her help. She was basically my physical therapy trainer for the entire thing, all 13000 words of this trash, holding my hand and cheering me on while I chin-wibbled and wailed until finally it was done. 
> 
> No, this is not the end of the story. But I don't know when the next chapter will be up, so I won't make any promises lol.
> 
> Also thanks to an Anon i received some weeks ago asking about a new chapter (dunno who you are, but here's lookin' at you, kid) and also to [Mari ](http://dragqueeneames.tumblr.com/)for reminding me that there are still people who actually want to read more of this fic haha.
> 
> It's surely got a few errors, sorry about that. If there's anything glaringly distracting, feel free to point it out to me. Questions or comments are best sent to my [tumblr](http://8isgrr8.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading, xoxo


End file.
